The Unwilling
by Poppy Allom
Summary: Percy Jackson just wanted a break, a normal life. But the Fates weren't done with him yet. After Percy and Annabeth's break-up, he was living in New York with his mother. And then, once again, his world fell apart. Aliens invaded New York, and Percy wants revenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **Location: Long Island, New York**

 **Date: 6/9/2010**

 **Time: 18:43**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

It was quiet in Camp Half-blood. Everyone was in the Dining Hall, all but two.

Annabeth pulled Percy aside. He smiled at her, wondering why she was keeping him from his dinner. She didn't smile back. She knew his world was about to fall apart.

"Percy," she said, "I think we should take a break."

Percy frowned in confusion. "Are you breaking up with me?" He asked.

"No… Yes. I don't know. It's just, I'm not feeling it anymore and I want to see what else is out there. We've been together for years, and I want to see what the world holds." Annabeth sighed, taking in the pained expression on Percy's face, "I don't want to break up with you, not really. I thought that maybe we could take a year apart, with no contact. And then we could meet and see how we feel. I feel like we need to spend some time apart, if only to become who we were meant to be. I'm sorry Percy, I truly am. I do love you, but more as a friend than anything else. Maybe what I need is a year to work myself out."

Percy smiled sadly, soaking in the details of Annabeth's face. "You do whatever you need to do Annabeth. I'll see you in a year. But know this, I will always, ALWAYS wait for you. Take the time you need, we have our whole lives ahead of us."

Percy turned and walked away, leaving her standing there with tears streaming down her face. Everything would be alright. He would be seeing her in a year. Just a year. It wasn't that long. Percy went to his cabin. He packed his belongings and left. Annabeth was right. They needed a break, not from each other perhaps, but from the world. And there was only one way that he was going to manage that.

 **Location: Empire State Building, New York**

 **Date:** **6/10/2010**

 **Time: 10:06**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

Percy was nervous. You didn't ask for favours from the Gods. Not if you wanted to live. And he did, he wanted to be around in a year to meet up with Annabeth, to prove to her that they should give their relationship a shot. After all, when your fatal flaw is loyalty, there can be no one else. But that was why he was here. He couldn't be at Camp Half-blood. He needed to see the world, to experience a life that had some semblance of being normal. He needed the Gods to remove his demigod scent. He needed them to leave him alone.

The doors opened, and there they were. All of the Gods, every single one. All staring at him. All wondering why he was here.

"Why have you called us here, Perseus Jackson?" Percy hid his scowl at the use of his name.

"I have come to ask you for a favour." He replied.

"A favour?" Zeus cried, "What right do you have to ask a favour."

Percy stared at him and narrowed his eyes. "Every right. You owe, you all do. You owe all of the demigods. I merely request for you to remove my demigod scent, so that I might live past the age of eighteen, and," he said, gazing at each of the Gods individually, "Leave me alone."

The room erupted in small mutters.

"But, my son," Poseidon said, "What if we need you?"

"I will always help, I will always be there, but I beg you, until that time comes, let me have at least something resembling a normal life. That is all I ask." Poseidon nodded, a look of understanding flashing across his face. Aphrodite would have already informed them of Percy and Annabeth's break up, they understood.

Zeus nodded slowly. "I shall grant your wish. And beyond that, I will give you safe passage through my domain, but only if you swear on the River Styx that you will betray us, never conspire against and NEVER meddle in our affairs unless requested to do so. Swear it, and I will do as you have requested."

"You're telling the person whose fatal flaw is loyalty to never betray you." Percy asked with a smirk.

Zeus merely narrowed his eyes.

"Fine." Percy sighed, "I swear on the River Styx that I will never betray you, never conspire against you and I won't meddle in the God's business unless requested to by a god."

The Gods smiled. Zeus pointed a finger at Percy, and then he was radiating a neon, blue light from every pore. The light faded. His scent was gone.

 **Location: San Francisco**

 **Date: 6/9/2011**

 **Time: 18:42**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

The man on the sidewalk swallowed nervously, his fingers twitching erratically. He was scared, terrified, but, at the same time, the slightest bit excited. He was going to see her again. His life, his Annabeth. The year had been difficult. Percy Jackson had lived with his mother, getting a job at a veterinary clinic. He had started by cleaning out the animal cages and mucking out stalls. Now he was an assistant, helping the vets during surgery, assisting in saving lives. He loved it. Percy had requested a leave of absence, taking the week off to fly to San Francisco. To meet her. To convince her of their relationship. He stepped forward, striding towards the picket fence, all nervousness apparently faded. He opened the gate and walked up the footpath.

This was it, the moment of truth. He lifted a hand to knock on the door and heard a laugh. Annabeth's laugh. It was followed by a deep, baritone chuckle. A man. Percy lowered his hand, stepped off the porch and, crouching in the garden, peeked through the living room window. Annabeth was there, pouring a glass of wine for someone. Someone with his back to Percy. He turned and picked up the glass, clinking it against Annabeth's glass gently. He said something and she laughed again, her face lit up with joy before the unknown man pressed a kiss to her lips.

A tear trickled down Percy's cheek. She had moved on, forgotten about their decision, forgotten about him. At first there was rage, an undeniable anger filling his heart and almost bursting out of his chest. But then she laughed again, so light and carefree. She was happy. And who was he to take it away. There could be no one else for him, Percy knew that, but Annabeth could be happy, and who was he to take that away?

Percy left the garden and strode back down the path. As he latched the picket gate shut, he looked back at the house, a sad smile gracing his lips. She was happy, and that was good enough for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 5/4/2012**

 **Time: 08:29**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

Percy was walking to work when it happened, when the portal opened in the sky and aliens came flooding out of it. Most stared in shock, but not Percy, he was as used as you can get to the weird and unexpected. He leapt immediately into action, directing people into buildings and telling them to shut the blinds, get down on the floor and not to make a sound. They looked at him as if he was insane. And then the aliens began firing on the city. They listened. Percy, however, remained on the street, swinging his head back and forth, surveying his surroundings. He could see Iron Man in the sky, destroying alien ships as they came out of the portal. But he didn't stop the ones that were already hurtling towards New York City. Percy told himself to stay calm. He hadn't been in a fight for almost two years, he wasn't going to get into another now.

Without realising it, Percy had pulled Riptide from his pocket, and, still in pen form, was twirling it between his fingers. People were screaming in fear, sprinting for cover. But Percy only had one thought. He must protect his mother. He ran back the way he came, dodging blue laser beams even as the aliens fired at him.

He arrived at the building, saw his mother and Paul as they ran through the foyer towards the exit. Saw his mother place her hand on the handle of the glass doors to open them. Saw as the alien grenade hit the base of the building, watched as the rubble fell and buried his family, the only family he had left.

Percy sprinted to the ruins, tearing at the rubble with his fingers, not noticing as his nails ripped and tore, as his fingers bled. And then he found her. Sally's still warm body was clutched in his arms, her still leaking blood soaking his shirt, her dust-caked hands still clutching Pauls. Percy let out a guttural scream, the cry resonating outwards through the city. He wanted to cry, to let the emotion out. But he couldn't, he wouldn't, not until every single one of those alien bastards were cold and dead and he had soaked his arms elbow deep in their blood. Not until he had revenge. Percy swore a vow in that moment, swore it on the River Styx, he wouldn't stop fighting, not until every single alien was dead. Not until he had defeated the Chitauri.

Percy pulled out Riptide and looked toward the squadron of aliens that had destroyed the building. Someone was going to pay, and Percy knew just where to start.

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 5/4/2012**

 **Time: 08:56**

 **Subject: Steve Rogers – Captain America**

Steve hung onto the ceiling of the quinjet as it plummeted towards the ground. Stark was fighting aliens, Thor was fighting Loki and currently they were crashing. It wasn't the best start to the battle. They hit the ground with a deafening crash, the floor of the jet falling open. The Captain grabbed his shield, he was going to need it.

"We've gotta get back up there." I called to Natasha and Clint as we ran out of the plane. We had to get to Stark tower. And that was when a Chitauri warship came flying out of the wormhole. We ducked for cover behind an abandoned taxi as destruction rained around us.

"We've got civilians trapped–" Clint said before being cut off by surprise. A squadron of Chitauri were approaching, their weapons ready to fire, when their was a disturbance at the back. A black-haired teen was whirling through the aliens, fighting with his bare hands, breaking their necks and tearing off their heads. Within seconds, he had eliminated eleven of the twelve approaching enemies. The remaining alien fired at him and he ducked into a roll, darting over the ground to dodge it. In a blur, the boy had kicked the alien's feet out from under it and was an inch away from the Chitauri soldier's face before his hand made a fist, and with a terrible cracking sound, he plunged his hand into the creature's chest, pulling out what Steve could only assume was the alien's heart. He tossed it aside, not seeming to notice his mangled and bleeding fist before turning his gaze on Steve, Natasha and Clint. They stared at him. His sea green eyes widened and he fired at us. The Captain prepared to duck away when a dead Chitauri soldier fell off the roof of a taxi and landed in front of them, its face smoking. The teenager had saved them.

The boy stared at them in what Steve could only assume was amusement, "What is this? Comicon? What are you wearing, dude?"

A group of aliens flew above them, a man decked out in green, black and gold armour accompanying them.

"Loki." Steve said lowly just as the teen sniggered, "Was that guy wearing antlers?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 5/4/2012**

 **Time: 08:30**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

Riptide didn't work on the aliens. Percy swung his sword at them and it didn't work. Fine, he decided, I'll do this he hard way. He whirled through the aliens, breaking their necks, ripping their heads off and pulling out their guts. Percy didn't care how murderous he seemed, they killed his Mom. Eventually, he worked his way through the block, killing any alien that stood in his way, helping any person that was caught in their crossfire. His shirt was ripped, his skin slashed and bleeding. His left side was slightly smoking, he had been hit by one of their weapons when he was trying to get a trapped family out of their car. The alien that shot him didn't last very long.

Seeing a squadron of aliens, Percy sprinted towards them, targeting them when their backs were turned. He ripped his way through them, expressing all his rage and pain. Only one was left and it fired at him. Percy ducked into a roll, dodging the laser fire. He spun in a low circle and kicked its legs out from under it. Within an inch of the monster's face, Percy grinned savagely and, ignoring the sound of his cracking bones, shoved his hand into the alien's chest and ripped out its heart.

Percy threw it aside before noticing the three strangely dressed people crouching behind a taxi. One of the men and the red-haired woman were wearing sleek, black suits, whilst the other was wearing a costume version of the American flag. Did he willingly leave the house dressed like that? An alien was clambering stealthily over the roof of the car, obviously trying to sneak up on Star-Spangled and his leather-wearing friends. Percy ripped a laser gun off of alien corpse's arm and fired at it. His shot hit it straight in the face. Perhaps it's only archery that he sucks at. Percy looked at the trio again, struggling to hold in hia amusement at the looks of shock on their faces.

He couldn't help myself, the corner of my lips quirked up as he tried to cover my laugh. "What is this? Comicon? What are you wearing, dude?"

A group of aliens flew above them, a guy in green and black clothing with a gold helmet was with them.

"Loki." Spangles said.

Percy sniggered slightly as he realised something, "Was that guy wearing antlers?"

"Who the hell are you?" The guy in black asked.

"Percy Jackson." Percy replied nonchalantly. Percy walked up to the red-headed woman and pulled a foot-long blade from a thigh sheath.

"Do you mind if I take this?" He asked her dryly. Red simply stared.

The three costumes were suddenly distracted when an alien ship blew up a car, eliciting terrified screams from the civilians down below.

"They're fish in a barrel down there." Spangles said. Another squadron of aliens began firing at them. the red head stood up and began firing her guns at the approaching monsters.

"We've got this," she told him, "It's good, go."

"Do you think you can hold them off?" Spangles asked.

"Captain, it would be my genuine pleasure." The archer guy replied.

Percy shrugged, "It'll be more fun now that I have a knife." The 'Captain' raised an eyebrow before turning and leaping off the bridge they were standing on. Percy stared at the two with cold eyes and a carnal grin. It was time to play. Spinning the sword in his hand he started towards the aliens. He was a hurricane, ripping through the aliens like they were paper, yelling profanities at them as he did so. The red-head shook her head and kept firing. The guy in black shot an arrow that skimmed past Percy's cheek, almost hitting him in the face. He caught it in mid-air before shoving it up beneath an alien's chin.

"Watch it," Percy growled, "You could've hit me."

The guy grinned slightly before running to a bus and tried to help the trapped people escape. He smashed a window and helped them out, before moving to the bus doors and trying to pull them open. They didn't budge. Percy strode forward, pushed him aside, and with one hand, pulled the doors open with ease. The civilians ran for cover. Percy smirked.

An alien space craft flew overhead, Percy, gathering the water vapour in the air beneath his foot, took a running leap, using the vapour to boost him twenty-feet in the air. He landed on the back of their ship and dragged himself up so that he was right behind them. Percy thanked Zeus for his blessing, it was time to attack from the air.

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 5/4/2012**

 **Time: 09:07**

 **Subject: Natasha Romanoff – Black Widow**

Who the hell was this kid? Where did he come from? Natasha had no idea, but he was a force to be reckoned with, slicing through the aliens like a tornado, swear words that even she wouldn't dare repeat pouring from his lips. The black-haired teenager was scary, but Natasha liked him. He swung her foot-long dagger with ease, but Natasha noticed however, that at times the blade fell short, merely slicing skin rather than bone. The kid was used to a longer weapon, perhaps a sword. She could tell Clint had noticed this as well.

The kid put his weight on his back foot, and, with a running jump, leapt twenty-foot into the air before landing on the back of a Chitauri hovercraft. He efficiently killed the Chitauri manning it and leapt off onto the side of a building before it crashed. Natasha watched as a Leviathon flew past Percy. He straightened on his window sill, his fist clenching into a fist, and, with power Natasha had only seen in the Hulk, he pushed off the building and crashed into the side of the warship. No, that wasn't right, he didn't crash, he kept travelling right through, ripping a hole in the gut of the Leviathon. It crashed to the ground and lay still before there was a terrible ripping noise. Its flesh tore apart revealing a gaping hole with a crouched figure inside. Percy stood slowly, and exited the hole he had created in the beast. He walked back over to Natasha and Clint, just as Captain America ran up to them and Thor landed in a shower of lightning. Jackson strode over to them.

He stood next to Natasha and nodded at her before looking down at his arm in surprise, clenched his teeth and popped his shoulder back into place. Natasha stared at him.

"What?" he asked. Natasha said nothing.

"What's the story upstairs?" Steve asked Thor.

"The power surrounding the cube is inpenetrable."

"Thor's right, we gotta deal with these guys." Stark's voice came over the comms.

"How do we do this?" Natasha asked. How could they possible defeat an army.

"As a team." The Captain replied.

"I have unfinished business with Loki." Thor claimed.

"Yeah, well get in line." Clint said.

The kid looked between them. "Loki is the guy responsible for this right?" Thor nodded. "He murdered my parents. If anyone gets to kill him, its me."

"Nobody is going to kill anybody." Thor said, his voice slightly raised.

The boy's sea green eyes darkened, "Tell that to my mother. Tell that to my step-father."

"Save it." Steve said, "Loki's going to keep the fight focused on us, and that's what we need. Without him these things could run wild. We've got Stark up top, he's going to need us to–"

Captain America was interrupted by the rumble of a motorcycle. Natasha turned and saw Bruce Banner walking towards them. He'd arrived.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 5/4/2012**

 **Time: 10:43**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

In all honesty, Percy expected that digging his way through an alien warships stomach was going to hurt more. He was surprised that it was merely a dislocated shoulder. His hand was already broken and bleeding from taking on a previous alien in the first place. Apparently, there were more people in the costume crew as well. As far as he could tell, the big blond guy wearing a red curtain was from the same place as Antlers. Percy sighed, he had to learn these guys' names.

Right now, they were welcoming some guy on a motorcycle. He kept looking at Percy funny. They all did. He supposed that it must be strange to have a nineteen-year-old guy turn up and help fight an alien army. But then again, the fact that there was an alien army was sort of weird in itself. They kept having weird conversations with someone, someone who wasn't there. Either the costumes had an invisible guy, or they had earpieces. Percy decided that it was the latter. And, if he felt like being really smart, he'd worked out that the person must be Tony Stark, as he'd seen Iron Man flying around earlier, fighting the invaders. Perhaps Percy wasn't stupid after all.

As soon as he'd come to that conclusion, there was a deafening crash as one of the giant space-worm-warship things crashed through the side of a building as it followed Iron Man.

"I don't see how that's a party." Red said. Percy disagreed, this was going to be fun.

The motorbike guy started walking towards the crashing ship.

"Dr Banner," Spangles said, "Now might be a really good time to get angry."

"That's my secret, Captain," the guy replied, "I'm always angry." And then the guy turned, morphing into a giant green dude.

"Cool." Percy muttered.

The green guy punched the warship on the nose, and the whole 'team' ducked for cover.

"Who's the kid?" Stark asked. Percy angled a glare at him. He wasn't a kid.

"He said his name was Percy Jackson." The arrow guy said. Percy gave him what he hoped was a friendly smile. He'd remembered his name.

"Guys." Red warned, looking up at the wormhole. A whole armada of warships were flying out, a fleet of alien ships ready to kill them.

"Call it Captain." Stark said.

Spangles issued his orders.

Percy was confused. "What do you want me to do?" He asked the Captain.

The captain stared at him as if he'd forgotten he was there. "You stay here on the ground with us." Percy nodded. He could do that.

The fight continued, each member working together in harmony. Percy was an angel of vengeance, tearing through the enemies with a combination of practiced skill and overwhelming rage. His dagger sliced through the aliens, steadily ripping them apart. The steel was wearing though, nicks and scratches etched down the length of the blade. Percy didn't notice. He just kept fighting.

Time passed, the battle raged on. Stark grabbed the nuclear missile, lifting it up into the wormhole. Percy fought on. The aliens collapsed simultaneously as the nuke hit its target. Steve issued the order. Red closed the portal. Stark passed through it, plummeting towards the ground. He wasn't slowing down.

Percy prepared himself to catch Iron Man, feeling the familiar pull in the gut as he summoned the water. He hadn't displayed his power over water yet, and he'd rather not, but if it was necessary to save Stark then he would. The blonde guy was whirring his hammer, preparing to fly up to catch Stark. They didn't have to. The green monster leapt through the air, grabbing Tony as he fell, and landed, cradling him on his chest. With a grunt, he shrugged the armoured man off him. Blondie ripped off the front of Iron Man's helmet. He wasn't breathing. They sat back, the weight of the loss settling on their consciousness'. The green guy roared and Tony awoke with a gasp.

"What the hell?" He cried. "What just happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me?"

Percy grinned at him, "Well, you seemed to enjoy it." Horror filled Starks face, and Percy smirked, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips.

Stark sighed in relief. "What really happened?"

"We won." Spangles said.

Stark sighed, "Alright, yay, alright, good job guys. Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day. You ever tried shawarma? There's a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don't know what it is but I want to try it."

"We're not finished yet." Blondie said.

"We'll then shawarma after."

"Hey, Blondie," Percy said, the hammer guy looked at him, "Is Antlers at Stark Tower?"

"Blondie." He replied, " _Blondie!_ "

"What?" Percy asked indignantly, "I don't know your name."

They shook their heads in exasperation. Percy bared his teeth in a grin.

The top floor of Stark Tower was wrecked. The windows were shattered and there were craters in the floor. Percy decided that it was a good thing that Tony Stark was a billionaire. Loki turned to face them.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now."

"Sure," Percy said, striding forward and seizing one of the bottles that was still on the bar. He smashed it over Loki's head, feeling a surge of satisfaction as the man collapsed on the ground. "Here's your drink."

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 5/4/2012**

 **Time: 13:02**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

Percy Jackson didn't even notice his mangled hand until the adrenaline faded. And even then, he ignored it. The so-called 'Avengers' had invited him to go and get shawarma after the battle. They'd also introduced themselves, and insisted that he stopped calling them by the nicknames he had given them. It was all a bit confusing. Spangles was Steve Rogers or Captain America, Red was Natasha Romanoff or Black Widow, the arrow guy was Clint Barton or Hawkeye, the green guy was Dr Bruce Banner or the Hulk (not that he liked to be called that), Blondie was Thor, and of course, Tony Stark was Iron Man.

So that was how they ended up sitting in the rubble of a shawarma shop, eating silently, feeling exhausted. Percy didn't mind the silence, it gave him time to think, to plan ahead and decided what to do next. It was after they finished eating that the questions started.

"Who are you?"

"Where did you learn how to fight?"

"Why did you fight?"

"How does shattering your hand not affect you?"

"Can you even feel pain?"

It was only when Tony asked what he was that Percy snapped.

"An orphan." He growled, before getting up. He slid Natasha's knife across the table to her. "It was nice meeting you." And then he left.

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 6/4/2012**

 **Time: 11:22**

 **Subject: Thor**

"You're sure they're going to punish him?" Percy asked Thor. "You'll make sure he suffers?"

Thor gazed at the teenager, his sea green eyes imploring him to hurt his brother. His eyes looked innocent, but Thor could see beyond that, could perceive the cold hatred and rage that now filled his heart. But even that was a front, a thick, sturdy wall to hide the pain and sadness underneath. Thor wondered what could have happened to make the black-haired teen to look like that, but then again, Thor thought, he did just lose his parents.

"I assure you Percy, son of Jack, Loki will pay for what he has done." The boy nodded, seeming to be deep in thought. He stood back as they opened the portal. It was time for Thor to go home.

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 6/4/2012**

 **Time: 11:23**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

Percy watched until Thor and Loki disappeared with the Tesseract before walking away.

He didn't stop until he heard Stark call out behind him.

"Where are you going?" He called.

Percy turned and fixed the billionaire with an icy, wolf glare. "I have to bury my parents." Stark flinched. And then Percy was gone, taking long strides until eventually he was out of site.

Percy stayed in New York for two weeks after his parents' deaths. Two weeks after the Battle of New York. He couldn't leave, he had to organise their funerals. With one swift strike, the fates had left him dismantled, unhinged, and dead cold. He no longer smiled, he no longer laughed. His body had healed. He had healed the broken bones and skin with water the day after Thor left, adding scars to the carpet that already covered his body. It was the inside that water wouldn't heal, it was the inside that still hurt. Percy could feel himself growing different, he could feel himself changing. But there was no one to pull him back, to console him. And so, Percy sunk deep into a kingdom of coldness and solitude.

His first job after their death was clear. Organise the funeral, call a caterer, contact Sally and Paul Blofis' family and friends. Seventy-four people died in the invasion, and two of them was all he had left. Percy used what little money his mother and Paul had to pay for the funeral, to buy them garlands of flowers and ensure that their trip to the underworld would be peaceful.

The morning of the funeral, Percy dressed himself in a suit, put on a tie, bought a bouquet of flowers, and walked to the graveyard. When he arrived, people were already there, Annabeth was already there, holding the hand of the man Percy had seen in her house. It was all too much, it was all too painful. Leaving the flowers on ground, he scrambled up the trunk of a tree, settling himself on one of the large branches to watch the procession. He watched as the coffin was lowered into the ground, as the dirt was filled the hole, as people wiped their tears and left. But not a tear dripped from Percy's eye. Not a hint of emotion showed on his face. He was beyond it, what he felt went beyond grief, a part of him was missing, a chunk of his heart was residing in that coffin with the cold dead bodies of his loved ones. Somehow, Percy knew he would never get it back.

 **Location: San Francisco**

 **Date: 6/4/2012**

 **Time: 16:57**

 **Subject: Annabeth Chase**

Annabeth stared in shock at the footage of the alien attack. She had already contacted camp, making sure that everyone was alright. No one had been injured, thank the gods. She watched as the Avengers fought off the Chitauri, stared in shock as she saw a man in a ripped and bloodied t-shirt rip out an alien's heart. She recognised the unruly, raven, black hair, the stance of his shoulders, the way he fought. It was Percy Jackson, it couldn't be anyone else. But then she saw his eyes, his cold, lifeless eyes. They were uncaring, unrelenting, terrifying. It couldn't be Percy, Percy had never looked like that. Perhaps once in Tartarus, but whatever happened couldn't be worse than that. No, she told herself, it's not Percy, it's just someone who looks an awfully lot like him.

Two days later, Annabeth received a letter. A letter inviting her to the funeral of Sally and Paul Blofis. It was only then that she remembered their agreement, and how she had forgotten. Annabeth had to talk to Percy, she had to explain. And then she understood, that man was Percy Jackson, and it was the death of his parents that pushed him over the edge. Sighing, Annabeth packed her bags. She had a funeral to attend.


	5. Chapter 5

_This chapter remains unedited, apologies if there are any typos._

 **Chapter 5**

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 15/4/2012**

 **Time: 13:10**

 **Subject: Skye**

Skye sat in the booth of the café, her laptop open in front of her. Rubble still littered the street outside, random pieces of alien material glinting among the smashed chunks of concrete. She glanced up at the television above the counter. Once again, it was showing the Avengers fighting off the aliens now known as the Chitauri. They all looked professional, fighting off the invaders with unsurpassable skill. Well, all except one. The youngest looked like he had just been dragged off the street, as he whirred through the creatures with ferocity wearing just a pair of jeans and a shredded t-shirt. His hand was broken, she could easily see that, his knuckles stained red and bent out of shape. He also wielded a foot-long knife. The boy was interesting, looking like he was barely older than nineteen. And Skye had no idea who he was. No one did.

Every single person in the Avengers had come forward and identified themselves. Except that boy. She needed him to know, she needed him to realise that he could reveal himself to the world, he could free himself from the restraints that secrets had wrought. Leaning forward, Skye began to type. Her fingers became a blur as she rapidly hacked into the organisation that called themselves S.H.I.E.L.D. If anyone had information on this mysterious teenager, it would be them. In minutes, Skye had broken past their firewalls. Scrolling downwards, she came across a classified file, a file with the boy's photo in it. Clicking on it, she learned that his name was Perseus Jackson, he was nineteen years old, and his parents had died in the invasion. At least now she knew why he was fighting them. However, Skye couldn't fail to notice that they didn't have anything on how he learnt to fight, or how he managed to jump twenty-feet into the air before rocketing through the body of a Leviathon. It was impossible, what Jackson had done, and yet he had done it, and S.H.I.E.L.D. had no idea how.

She smiled. She could figure out who this Percy Jackson guy really was, and she would tell the world. Skye would set him free.

 **Location: New York City, New York**

 **Date: 12/4/2012**

 **Time: 11:21**

 **Subject: Annabeth Chase**

Annabeth felt awful. She needed to speak to Percy. She had meant to do it at the funeral, but Percy hadn't been there. She knew that she shouldn't have brought Andrew, she knew it would only hurt him, but Andrew had insisted, knowing that she would need emotional support at Sally Blofis' funeral. She needed to make Percy understand.

She had received the glares from the other demigods at Camp Half-blood when they heard what she had done, she had heard the comments spoken behind her back. But they didn't understand, none of them did. She couldn't help it when her love for Percy faded, she couldn't help dreading the future of the relationship. But Percy had fallen into Tartarus for her, and what sort of person would she be to break up with the man who had done that. But it wasn't fair on Percy to drag the relationship onwards, they would both end up miserable, and, eventually, Percy would grow to despise her and she him. Breaking up with Percy was the logical choice, it was the right thing to do. Annabeth had no idea that he would take her words about taking a break from not only each other, but the mythological world so literally.

The morning after their break up, she heard the message from the Gods, Percy had cut ties with the mythological world, until they require his help again, he would remain undisturbed, unburdened by the pressures of being a half-blood. Annabeth almost envied him, but, she reminded herself with a smile, her life was going great. Andrew was an architect student, just like her, and it was their combined passion that brought them together in the first place. She was happy, after all that had happened, Annabeth was finally happy. She only wished that the same could be said for Percy, but after the death of his parents, she considered this to be highly unlikely. Her smile faded, she needed to talk to him. She had to explain. Unfortunately, his apartment was destroyed when it crashed down upon his parents, so she had no idea where he was living. Percy, she thought with a sigh, where is Hades are you?

 **Location: Sydney, Australia**

 **Date: 20/4/2012**

 **Time: 13:10**

 **Subject: Peter Johnson**

Peter Johnson stepped off the plane at Sydney airport, immediately pulling his baseball cap low over his face and pushing dark sunglasses over his eyes. After that infernal Rising Tide hacker leaked his information and life story online, people had been recognising him everywhere. This, including the fact that he told the Avengers his name, the team that worked for a top-secret spy organisation, was the main reason that he found himself in Australia in the first place. Slinging his carry-on bag over his shoulder, he ducked his head walked through the airport, making sure to not walk directly in the view of the security cameras. He had made sure that before he left, he had three passports, each with a different identity so that nobody could track his whereabouts. Upon landing, Peter had made sure use a different identity to enter the country than the one that he would use to live in the country. This way, no one who came snooping would know who he was, or where he came from. For the first time in a long time, Peter felt smart.

He stopped once, before he left, heading into a Newsagency to buy some language textbooks. Peter smirked slightly, never in a million years did he imagine himself voluntarily buying textbooks, but, he figured that if he was going to be spending his life on the run, it would do well for him to be able to speak the language the same language as the country's main occupants. Making sure that each of the books had a CD in the back for audio (dam dyslexia), Peter paid for them in cash, and left the airport.

He walked to the nearest internet café and found someone who was selling a cheap 4WD. Writing down the address, Peter left the café and hailed a taxi. After telling the driver the address, Peter leant back in his seat and listened to the radio. There was a live talk-show. Immediately, Peter began to mimic the accent and slang that the speakers used, as he tried to learn and perfect his accent. The driver's eyes flicked to the backseat and fell upon Peter.

"What are you doing?" He asked him curiously, he had been a taxi driver for 20 years, and yet no one had ever done what Peter was doing.

"Just trying to perfect my Aussie accent, mate." Peter replied, noticing with concealed pleasure the look of surprise on the driver's face when it sounded perfect. He continued this for the rest of the trip. Paying the cab driver, he got out of the car and walked up to the apartment flat door. The car was parked in the driveway, years of rust decorating the chipped white metal. Peter loved it immediately.

He knocked on the door, not even raising a brow when a fat old man without a shirt answered.

"I'd like to buy your car." Peter said.

"$750." The grandpa immediately answered.

"$500."

"$650" Peter considered for a moment before nodding his head. Pulling the cash out of his wallet, he idly held his hand out for the keys. Fat Man deposited them, and without another word, Peter turned around, opened the car, put his bags on the backseat and backed out of the driveway.

He had decided on the plane what he was going to do. Peter was going to drive west, into the outback, find a town that he liked, and stay there. There would be no security cameras, no constant surveillance. It was the closest thing that Peter could get to privacy. So he drove, for a week. Of a night, he would either drive through it, or pull over onto the side of the road and sleep on the back seat. Peter often passed through small towns, some were larger than others, featuring a fuel station, a general store, maybe a café. Others were smaller, consisting of only a beaten down general store. Neither of them seemed right. Peter realised that he was acting like the human version of Goldilocks, but trusting his instincts had gotten him this far.

After a week of driving, Peter found the perfect place. The town was tiny. On one side of the road was a train station, a grand sandstone building that looked like it would last for a thousand years. On the other side was fuel station, general store and café combined, next to it was a public toilet and a post box. There were four houses and three caravans. Peter loved it.

The town seemed to sag beneath years of dust, the sides of the buildings caked red with the sand that could only be found in the Australian outback. A few scraggly old trees stood at shoulder height, their leaves curled and crisped under the intense heat. There was a distinct hum in the air from fans and air conditioners, as the town's residents desperately tried to escape the heat. The air shone and wavered above the boiling tin roofs, and Peter could hear the occasional bark of a dog or shout of a child. He drove in slowly and parked in front of the store. Through the shop window, he saw a large, chesty woman look up from behind the counter in vague surprise. Peter guessed that newcomers were unusual. Getting out of his car, Peter slammed the rusty old door to shut it. He locked it out of habit and pocketed the keys. Striding across the red earth towards the store he heard the crunch of the soil beneath his boots. Apollo seems to favour this land. Opening the dirt encrusted glass door, he noticed that the building was sweltering. A ceiling fan beat helplessly above his head, a casual whine filling the store. Peter strode up to the counter and smiled at the woman, taking slight interest as a bead of sweat ran down the side of her face. He stretched his face into what he hoped was a smile. The woman smiled back.

"Well, dear." She began, "What can I do for you."

Leaning over the counter slightly, Peter replied, "I'd like to live here. Are you hiring?"

The woman appeared taken aback, probably wondering why a nineteen year old man was trying to move into a town with a population of (according to the sign he saw upon entering) fifty-six people.

"Ah, yes," She said rather doubtfully, "I am. Umm… What exactly is it that brings you here, Mr…"

"Peter Johnson," Peter answered, "And I'm afraid that I needed a change of scenery. I grew up in the city you see, and I never truly enjoyed it, so I decided to see what the rest of Australia held for me. And here I am."

The woman blinked. "Well, I don't know if you want a proper house, seeing as all of them are currently occupied, but I have a vacant caravan that I would be willing to rent to you. And, if you like, you could start work tomorrow?"

Peter nodded, giving a close-lipped smile. "That would be perfect, and you are?"

"Mrs Ada Williams."

"Lovely. So where is the caravan and how much will it cost?"

Two hours later, Peter had already unpacked and settled in. He'd only had a duffel bag filled with clothes and his new book so there wasn't exactly much to unpack. The caravan was small. There was a double bed up one end and a couch up the other. On one wall was a sink and a stove top, on the other a table and chair. The walls were a murky green, and the light was half-filled with dead insects. The first thing he would have to do, Peter decided, is clean that light. He reached up easily and unscrewed the bowl, his 6'2 frame coming in handy. He stepped outside to empty it when he heard a faint 'hem-hem' from behind him. With a single brow raised, Peter turned. A woman stood behind him, wearing a tight black office skirt and a white blouse. Peter's eyebrow raised even higher when he noticed the 4 inch black heels she wore.

"Hi," she said, sticking her hand out to greet him, "my name is Tabitha Lane. I'm the town reporter and I would like to firstly, welcome you to our humble town. Secondly, I was wondering if you would like to answer some questions for me."

Peter made a faint noise in his throat. "Questions?" He asked, not noticing the slight blush that had risen on the woman's cheeks when he turned around.

"Well, yes." She replied. "We so rarely get new residents that when we do, I make a note of writing a story for the newspaper about them."

"This town has a newspaper."

"Yes, we operate out of the back room of my house."

"I'm awfully sorry ma'am, but I still have a lot of unpacking to do, so if you don't mind, I won't be answering any questions today." Peter finished emptying the light bowl, strode up the two caravan steps and shut the door quickly behind him.

Infernal reporters, he thought as he screwed the light bowl back onto the ceiling. Why couldn't they just give him one moment of peace. He twitched back the yellowed lace curtain and peeked through the dirty window. The woman was still standing there, looking at the door in shock. Blinking rapidly, she put her notebook back into her bag and wobbled back down the street to the general store. Little did Peter know, but she was the first in a long line of problems.

Peter turned up to the store bright and early the next morning. Mrs Williams showed him around, told him what his job entailed, and left him to work. During the entirety of the day, Peter served only two customers, one from the town, who, like Tabitha, proceeded to endlessly question him, the second customer had driven for two hours from one of the district's outlying properties. Peter settled into his new job comfortably. However, by the end of the week, a rumour had spread from one end of the town to the other about him. A certain, Miss Tabitha Lane had told every resident that Peter Johnson was a rude, secretive young man who had slammed his door in his face. She claimed that she would uncover his secrets and send them to the Sydney Morning Herald if it was the last thing she ever did. By the end of the week however, Peter had met everyone who lived in the quaint little town and they had seemed to deem Tabitha's claims, to simply put it, absolute bullshit. Peter was thankful for this. He didn't need anybody to go snooping around.

By the end of the month, Peter had settled into a nice comfortable schedule. Each day, he would awake at six o'clock in the morning, go for a run whilst the air was still cool, have a shower in the public bathrooms at the train station before having a rushed breakfast and heading to work. With his fake Australian accent, he wasn't considered an outsider, and the town seemed to have accepted him as one of their own. Once he had gotten off work, Peter would put the audio CD from the Hindu book he had bought, and attempt to learn how to speak Hindu. He didn't bother trying to learn how to write it. Peter could barely write in English anyways. Once it had gotten dark, Peter would leave the caravan, take Riptide, head a good kilometre out into the desert, and train. He would return a few hours later utterly exhausted from the long day, and immediately go to sleep.

Peter enjoyed his life in Australia, it wasn't stressful, but it kept his mind busy enough that he didn't have to think about the deaths of his parents. One morning, a month and a half after he had driven into the town, he awoke to a man's panicked shouts. Struggling out of bed and tugging on a shirt, he stepped outside of the caravan and looked around with bleary eyes. The residents of the town were slowly stepping out their homes, pulling on shoes or dragging outer clothes over their pyjamas. Peter immediately found the source of the shouts. A man, whom Peter merely knew as Craig, was running up the road, a heavily bleeding dog clutched in his arms. Peter stepped forward immediately, surveying the limp and injured animal with an expert eye.

"What happened?" He asked.

"He got mauled by a goanna." Craig replied. Panic clearly residing in his throat as he stared at his bleeding pet. "The nearest vet is five hours away. I don't think he's going to make it that long."

Peter disappeared into his caravan and came back out with a first aid kit and a blanket. He spread the blanket on the ground and, taking the dog from the man's hands, laid it down gently on it.

"Okay." Peter sighed, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Right now, he's bleeding out. I can sew up his wounds and bandage them but goanna's teeth are highly infectious and I highly suggest that you take him to the vet immediately after. Once the bleeding is stopped, he will last a little longer, but if you don't get him professional help immediately, he will die." Then, with a practised hand, Peter threaded the needle and began to sew up the wounds. The dog whimpered beneath him, and he immediately felt bad for not having any anaesthetic. I'm trying to save your life, Peter thought to the animal, I'm trying to help you.

Within ten minutes, Peter had neatly sewn up the scratches and bites and handed the Jack Russell back to its owner. Craig immediately scurried to his car, and with a squealing of tires, and a cloud of red dust, he was speeding up the road to the closest major town to theirs. Peter ran a bloodied hand over his face, not noticing the red smear he by accidentally left on his forehead and sighed as Tabitha Lane bombarded him with questions.

"How did you do that? What makes you think you have the right to touch other people's pets? How do you know if your advice is accurate? Are you expecting payment for your help?" She fired at him.

"I used to work in a veterinary clinic. He asked for someone to help him. I don't know if my advice is accurate, which is exactly why I recommended taking the dog to a qualified professional, and why the hell would I expect payment." He said, turning that last sentence on her with a glare. The journalist blushed.

"Now, if you'll excuse me", he told the crowd of people which were still crowded around him, "I need to have a shower and get to work." Then he strode out of their midst, back into his caravan, where he gathered some fresh clothes before heading over to the train station. Tabitha followed him.

After his shower, he dried his hair, and reached to get his clothes. He pulled on his pants and slung his shirt over his shoulder before leaving the shower cubicle. It was only after he had walked over to the sink that he heard the overly loud and feminine gasp. Looking into the mirror, he saw Tabitha Lane standing behind him with a hand over her mouth. She was staring at his scars. With a curse, Peter pulled on his shirt.

"H-how did you get those?" She stuttered.

"Get what?" He replied, acting dumb.

That was when her grew glassy, as if she was about to cry. "Those scars. They're all over you, there's hardly a patch of skin without one. How did it happen?"

Peter shrugged. "Accident." He said shortly. "Are you done ogling me yet."

The woman cast her eyes downwards, a deep blush suffusing her cheeks.

"And," he continued, "Isn't this the men's room." Tabitha fled. Peter cursed. He'd hate to hear the rumours now.

Surprisingly, as the months slowly passed, it seemed that Tabitha hadn't told anybody about his scars, either that or they just didn't mention them in front of him. Peter was grateful, he could do without invasive questions that he didn't know how to answer. More and more people began bringing their injured animals to him. He helped where he could, and, as always, he recommended that the owner take them directly after the vet. The Jack Russell survived, and as a way of saying thanks, Craig completely restocked Peter's first aid kit. Peter wasn't sure what to think, but in the end, he decided it was a nice gesture.

It was six months after he had first arrived in the town when disaster stuck. Mrs Williams had been out of town, visiting the city to get some more 'exotic' merchandise for the store. Whatever that meant. Peter was expecting her to be back at the store by one o'clock for him to receive the week's pay check. He was standing behind the counter, as usual, when he heard a crash and a scream. He raced outside, letting the heavy glass door slam behind him. And that was when he saw the destruction. Ada Williams' car had run off the road and slammed into the side of the stone train station. Unfortunately, Mrs William's drove a ute, and one of the two doors was pressed so tightly against the side of the building that it was impossible to open. The other had been crushed and folded in on itself, jamming it shut. Two men were already tugging on it, trying and failing, to get the door open. Thick smoke issued from beneath the smashed bonnet and slowly filled the cabin. Peter sprinted across the street, his eyes widening when he saw the flames licking at the bent metal. Pushing through the crowd and shoving the men out of the way, Peter grabbed the door by the handle, and ripped it off its hinges.

The crowd hushed, and, somewhere in the back of his mind, Peter noticed the slight click of the shutter of a camera. He yanked Mrs Williams out of the cabin and onto the ground and covered her body with his. It appeared that he did so not a moment too soon as the cabin of the ute exploded, eliciting shocked gasps and cries of alarm from the crowd, as debris littered down upon them. Peter clambered to his feet ignoring the stares, and, after checking to see of Mrs Williams was alright (it appeared she was only knocked out), and ran back across the road and into his caravan, not bothering to shut the swinging door behind him.

In a hurry, he shoved all his belongings into his black duffle bag. Packed some food and water and tossed the bag onto the backseat of his 4WD. With a roar of his engine, he sped off down the road. Before he could stop himself, Peter glanced back into his rear-view mirror, taking in the stares of the town residents and the gaping mouth of Tabitha Lane, her camera still clutched loosely in her hands. He knew immediately that the nosy woman would not keep this to herself. She would fulfil her word, and send the whole story to the Sydney Morning Herald. Soon enough, it would be on the news. It wouldn't take long until for everyone to realise that Peter Johnson was actually Percy Jackson. Percy sighed, his cover had been blown.

Switching his gaze back onto the road, he formulated a plan. He would leave Australia with the same passport that he used to enter, meanwhile, he decided to let the stubble grow out on his cheeks, in the hope that people wouldn't recognise him in passing. Percy made a split-second decision to try India next. The lack of cameras and surveillance in the town had been a positive, but Percy, as a newcomer, stood out too much. He needed somewhere that was so overpopulated, that no one would notice him, somewhere that didn't have too many cameras or watchful eyes. And besides, he had already been learning to speak Hindu. When Percy arrived in Sydney, it was the middle of the night. He parked his car on the side of the street and walked a few feet until he came to an old homeless guy, shivering in the early spring chill. Percy crouched down in front of him, staring at the old man.

"You know how to drive?" He asked him suddenly.

The old man looked up in surprise and nodded. Percy tossed him the keys.

"It's yours. Take care of it."

"What's the catch?" The man croaked.

"In a couple of days, the feds will be all over it. They should let you keep it though, I don't see why not. And if you're worried that they won't, sell it." Percy walked back to the car and got his duffel bag and backpack off the backseat.

"And if they ask how I got it?" Homeless guy called out from behind him.

"Tell them the truth." Percy said before striding off into the darkness. He had a plane to catch.


	6. Chapter 6

_This chapter remains unedited. Prepare yourself for multiple typos._

 **Chapter 6**

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 3/10/2012**

 **Time: 08:22**

 **Subject: Skye**

Skye was pissed off to say the least. She didn't expect to be with the very organisation that she so despised. But even she had to admit that she may have been wrong about them. The team wasn't what she expected, and, while they may still act cautiously around her, the majority welcomed her with open arms. When they first took her in, Coulson was displeased that she had found and made contact with Mike Peterson, he was even more riled when she by accidently let slip that she was the member of the Rising Tide to release Percy Jackson's information to the public.

Skye sat up in her bunk and picked at her fingernails. She missed her van, it was the closest thing she had ever had to a home. Skye glanced up as she heard the patter of rushed footsteps.

"Skye," Fitz called, "Coulson has called a meeting and he wants us all there."

"What's going on?"

"I think he said something about an enhanced individual." Fitz replied.

"Where?" She asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

Fitz's answer was short and abrupt. "Australia."

Skye dragged herself off her bed and walked with Fitz to the lab, where Coulson was standing with Simmons, Ward and May. When they arrived, Coulson nodded to them, before pressing something a button and showing them an article.

"Two days ago, an article was released by the Sydney Morning Herald about an incident that occurred in Kalabrar, a small town in the middle of the Australia outback. A woman, by the name of Ada Williams was driving home when her car ran off the road and hit the side of the train station. Immediately, the entire population of the town flocked to the site and tried to get her out of the car. The door was jammed, and they failed to do so. They were later joined by a man called Peter Johnson, who, with one hand, ripped the door off its hinges, pulled Ada from the car and shielded her body with his own before the vehicle blew up. This incident occurred 6 days ago. The town reporter, a Miss Tabitha Lane, took photos of the event, which were featured alongside the article."

Coulson scrolled further down the page, showing a photo of a man with his back to the camera, holding the car door at shoulder height with one hand, and a rather heavy woman in the other. He was tall, easily above 6'0 tall, with shaggy, black unruly hair and tanned skin. He was obviously well muscled and was holding the door with apparent ease. Skye couldn't help but feel that the man looked somewhat familiar.

"We are heading to Australia to be the welcoming party for this individual. The article later expresses that Johnson fled the scene. Skye, check all local train stations, air ports and docks for any sign of this man. I highly doubt that he has remained in the area. May, redirect our course to Kalabrar, Australia, we need to question its residents. Ward, prepare yourself for a fight, it may not be necessary, but this man is clearly enhanced, and we need to be prepared if the mission goes south. Fitz, Simmons, try and see if you can figure out how he could do this. Perhaps a serum or something. Make sure we're well stocked with icers. He may have been helping this woman, but he may not take kindly to be taken in."

"Sir," Skye asked, raising her hand as if she was in a classroom, "What if he doesn't want to come in? Shouldn't we just let him live his life in peace?"

Coulson directed his cool gaze onto her. "We can't afford to take that risk. For all we know, this Peter Johnson could be another Captain America, or a Percy Jackson, perhaps even a Hulk. We simply cannot allow an individual with that much power to run around unchecked."

Skye nodded, casting her eyes downward, she knew a dismissal when she one. And then everyone was off, bustling around and fulfilling the jobs that Coulson had assigned each of them. Settling herself back in her bunk, Skye opened her laptop. Typing almost absentmindedly, she quickly researched Peter Johnson, only to come up with 246 results in Australia alone. Apparently, it was a common name. She refined her search to male individuals that were above 6'0 and had black hair with the skin colour she had seen in the photograph. Her list narrowed to 12 different candidates. Quickly running facial recognition on each of them, Skye determined that 4 of them were out of the country, 6 of them were above thirty years old, which didn't fit the description in the article, and the other two had been caught by traffic cameras on the same day in the cities of Melbourne, Sydney and Adelaide. Not a single one of them fit the bill.

Frowning, Skye ran the search again, only to come up with the same result. She printed off everything she had found, and took the stack of papers over to Coulson, where he had been talking to Agent May.

"Coulson," Skye began, "I did what you asked and ran his name and description through everything, but I came up with nothing."

She handed him the stack of papers, and watched as he flicked through them.

"To put it quite simply" she continued, "Peter Johnson doesn't exist."

Six hours later, the plane settled on the ground 10 kilometres away from the town. The team would be going under the cover of the CIA, to (with hope) find Peter Johnson, and if not possible, question the town's residents. Using one of the vehicles from the Bus, they drove the remaining distance before stopping outside the general store. The town was tiny. There was a store on one side with a few houses and caravans, and on the other was a train station. A smashed ute was still curled around the side of the building. Skye immediately decided that this was the scene of the crash.

She stepped out of the car, staring at the puff of dust that had erupted when her foot hit the ground, barely listening to Coulson as he divided them into pairs and told each of them to keep a low profile. In a town this small, she imagined that would be rather difficult. They immediately split up, Fitz and Simmons going towards the train station whilst May and Coulson headed towards the houses. Skye looked at Ward doubtfully, before striding towards the stores entrance, desperately trying to escape the sweltering heat. The store was small, its shelves stacked with seemingly random items. They strode up the main aisle where a large busty woman sat behind the counter, melting in the heat. It was the woman from the photo. Ada Williams. She looked up when they approached, surprise on her face. She mopped the drops of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Hi," she began cheerily, "What can I do for you?"

Skye waited for Ward to talk. He didn't. With a sigh, she started forward. "You're Mrs Ada Williams, correct? And you were involved in the crash a week ago? We were wondering if you would answer some questions about Peter Johnson for us. We are with the CIA, and your assistance would be much appreciated."

Ada raised a brow. "What do you want with him." Skye bit back a groan. It seemed she was protective.

"We just want to ask him some questions."

Ada nodded slowly. "What do you want to know."

Skye met up with the rest of the team an hour later. They gathered together at the car to discuss the information that they had accumulated. Coulson and May had visited all the houses but one, and had spoken to the residents of the two occupied caravans. Fitz Simmons had questioned the conductor and janitor at the train station. Skye waited patiently for someone to start. No one did. Throwing Ward a look, she waited for him to narrate what they had just been told.

"So," he began, "We just spoke to Ada Williams, the woman in the accident. She was his boss and the one renting the caravan to it. The one that is currently unoccupied. Johnson arrived here six months ago, and left town as soon as he pulled her out of the burning car. According to Ada, he was always polite, always turned up to work early. He never caused any problems. He even treated people's pets when they got sick. It sounds like he never showed any signs of being an enhanced. They were completely unassuming. The guy had a perfect cover. She called him her angel, her saviour. She told Skye that if we catch up to him, we have to thank him for saving her life." Ward finished speaking and Skye nodded, that was about it. Now, it was Fitz and Simmons turn.

"There isn't really much to say," Simmons said in her British accent, "We spoke to the conductor and the janitor, and they said basically the same thing as Ward, he was perfectly polite, never put a foot wrong. Every morning, he would use the public bathroom and have a shower. When they asked why he moved and where from, Peter Johnson told them that he came from the city, he didn't specify which one, and that he needed a change of pace."

"We spoke to a guy who said that Johnson saved his dog when it was attacked by a goanna." Coulson stated. "It seems as if the whole town worshipped the ground he walked on."

"Well," May said, her face an impenetrable mask, "All except one."

Skye knew that there had to be someone who hated him, everybody has at least one enemy. It turns out for Johnson, that person was the town reporter. It had been her who had sent the article to the Sydney Morning Herald, and her who took the photos of him in action. She was the one resident that no one had talked to yet, and the one they were the most interested in. Skye was frustrated. For all the people they questioned, no one knew anything. They were no closer to finding out who the guy was from when they had been on the Bus. Skye hated mysteries. She vented her feelings by a kicking a rock, feeling the slightest bit of satisfaction when it bounced to foot away from her, red dust billowing around it. Ward raised an eyebrow. She blushed, looking away from him. She could do without his judgement and disapproval.

They all stopped walking when they came to the last house on the row. They knocked, surprise flitting over each of their faces but May's. That woman had no emotions. Tabitha May wore four-inch black stilettos, a navy-blue blouse, and a tight black business skirt. She didn't belong in the desert.

"Come in, come in. I've been expecting you." She opened the door for them, inviting them into her small house.

"I knew you were coming of course, the neighbour, Mrs Wilkinson, she came over immediately after you left. She said that you've been asking around about Peter Johnson. Well, don't I have news for you. I'll tell you everything I know of course, I've been told that you're with the CIA, and it's my duty as a reporter to distribute knowledge and tell the truth.

"I knew that man was trouble from the start. I went and greeted him when he arrived. You'll probably want to know the date. I remember it exactly. It was the 27th of April. Anyways, I went to his caravan. I was perfectly polite. All I asked was for him to answer some questions, so that I could write a piece of the town newspaper, we so rarely get new residents, and do know what he did? He refused! And then went back inside and slammed the door in my face!

"No one would believe me when I told them. Everybody thought that he was simply the _nicest_ guy. So polite, so punctual. I could tell it was all a lie. Then one morning, Craig's dog got attacked by a goanna, I tell you though, Craig has some secrets that make your toes _curl_. An affair you know, with a twenty-year-old in the next town over. Well, where was I? His dog. So, his dog got attacked by a goanna, and he's running up the road screaming for help. Bit over the top if you ask me. but he was yelling for help, when Peter comes out of his van and asks what happened. Craig tells him, and Peter just turns around and goes back inside. Just leaves. I thought, now he's showing his true colours. But then he came back out with a blanket and first aid kit. He lays the blanket on the ground, takes Craig's dog and starts sewing him up. He then told him that goanna teeth were highly infectious and take the thing straight to the vet.

"By then, the whole town had gathered. I wrote an article about it. You can have a copy if you like. By then the whole town was there, and I was asking him some questions, purely for the article, then he says he needs a shower and just turns around and leaves. I followed him of course, I needed answers. Turns out he was actually having a shower. But I know his type, they're always up to something shifty. So I waited outside his cubicle for him to finish. And when he came out, let me tell you. I couldn't believe it. I mean, he was drop dead gorgeous, but that's not what I mean.

"It was the scars. They were everywhere. There was barely a patch of skin that didn't have at least some scarring. When I asked him about it, he said it was an accident. I knew he was lying straight away. Some of those scars were burns, but others were straight, like they'd done by knives. And on his back, it looked like he'd had lashes, you know, like whipped. It was shocking. And when I told everybody, they told me to leave it alone! To mind my own business!

"The car accident was the true shocker though. I'm just happy I brought my camera with me when I heard the crash. I needed photos for the paper. But he ripped that door off its hinges with one hand. One hand! I knew he was shifty. I knew there was something not quite right. I have more pictures on my computer, I can show you if you want."

The entire team nodded, feeling slightly relieved that she had finally stopped talking. What she was saying was interesting though, and Skye found herself glad that Tabitha was the nosiest person she had ever met. If she wasn't, they wouldn't know nearly as much as they do now. Tabitha stood up and walked over to her desktop on her spindly heels. With a loud creak from the chair, she plopped herself down on it. Everyone crowded around behind her as she clicked on the file to access the photos. She flicked through them slowly, depicting in slow motion, as two men tried and failed to get the crushed door open, as Peter Johnson pushed aside the crowd, ripped the door of its hinges with a single hand and tugged the woman out of the cabin of the car, as he covered his body with hers as the car exploded, bending over her to check her health, and finally, standing up and seeming to gaze right at the camera. It was the only photo of his face.

"Holy fucking shit!" Skye swore, "That's Percy Jackson."


	7. Chapter 7

_Thankyou to the people who left reviews. Thankyou for the criticism. I am always trying to improve my writing. Once again, apologies for the typos._

 **Chapter 7**

 **Location: Goa, India**

 **Date: 25/10/2012**

 **Time: 14:00**

 **Subject: Parker James**

He was finally able to relax, to kick back and enjoy life. Parker James had found the perfect place. It was a shack, a little run down and rust stained from the crisp sea air, but it was right on the ocean. The door was on the beach, twenty metres from the ocean. Parker knew that he could live here, settle down here, finally enjoy life. He had paid for it upfront in cash. He didn't leave a name. He could leave no evidence of being there.

Parker dug his toes into the sand, relishing the feeling of being so close to the water. He had gotten another job. He washed the dishes in an old restaurant. The manager couldn't believe what a good job he had done. Parker sighed. He had lived here for two weeks, two almost perfect weeks. He had pushed down the grief for Paul, the gut-wrenching pain that accompanied the thoughts of his mother. He had isolated himself. It was surprisingly easy in a city with this many people. He had no friends, Parker kept to himself, not talking to anyone if he didn't have to. When your fatal flaw is personal loyalty, it's safer to simply not become attached to anyone. A life lived alone was lonely, for sure, but it was nothing compared to the pain and guilt that comes when your fried dies and you could have saved them.

Parker knew he could have helped his mom and Paul, he knew that if he had of gotten there sooner, they could still be alive. Parker frowned and supressed the thoughts. Emotion was a weakness, a tool that enemies can use to manipulate him. He would show no emotion, he would feel nothing. He had to be cold, empty, blank. Parker could do that. He had to do that.

If not, his emotions would destroy him.

 **Location: Camp Half-blood, Long Island**

 **Date: 25/10/2012**

 **Time: 14:00**

 **Subject: Piper McClean**

Piper felt cruel when she said it. She felt awful when she felt it. But no one could deny the truth of it. She was glad Percy had gone. She missed him, of course she missed him. He was one of her best friends, he was a part of the seven. But the attacks on Camp Half-blood had been cut down by half. The amount of pissed off monsters and immortal deities with raw power had been so greatly reduced, that no one could deny that it was the son of Poseidon's presence that attracted them. Camp was safer without him.

Piper could only hope that, wherever in the world he was, Percy was happy, that he had moved on from Annabeth, from the deaths of Sally and Paul Blofis. She hoped she was safe. Piper just wanted him to be happy.

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 25/10/2012**

 **Time: 14:00**

 **Subject: Skye**

They had been searching for Percy Jackson for weeks. She didn't know how he had disappeared, but he was good, like Agent May sort of good. To be able to just evaporate with S.H.I.E.L.D. on your tail took skill, it took finesse and genius. The reporter, Tabitha May, upon me recognising Peter Johnson had peppered us with questions until we finally escaped her death trap of a house. Two days later, there was another story in the paper. Sky had to give it to the woman. She was consistent.

She pressed her fingers to her temples. Where the hell had he gone? She knew he had left the country. His picture had popped up on a passport registered to a Pierce Jonahson. He had been on a flight to India. Skye had found security camera footage of him leaving the airport in a black baseball cap and sunglasses before being lost in a crowd of people. Where was he? It was Skye's job to find him. Coulson had entrusted this to her. She had to find one man, a man who had proven he could be invisible, in a country that housed 1.3 million people.

Letting out a groan, she ran her fingers through her thick, brown hair. The only reason they had found him the last time was because he had slipped up. He had refused to let someone he barely knew to die and got caught on camera doing it.

Skye shut the lid of her laptop with a slam. She needed him to slip up. She needed him to make a mistake. A photo, a video, even just a description. She needed something! Skye fell backwards onto the bed with a huff.

Percy Jackson was a ghost, a whisper, like small tendrils of mist that drift upwards from the earth, only to dissipate when they were close enough to understand. Finding him was like catching smoke, catching smoke with your bare hands.

 **Location: Goa, India**

 **Date: 23/11/2012**

 **Time: 10:17**

 **Subject: Parker James**

Parker sprinted along the beach. He ran as fast as he could, for as long as he could. He did it every morning. It was routine. Parker knew that routine was a weakness. If one was predictable, they ended up dead. But he still did it. And Parker knew why. In his life of indecisiveness and running, he yearned, no, he needed something solid, something he could rely on. If that was taking morning runs at eight o'clock every morning then he could deal with it. If trouble found him because of it, then he would deal with it when it came.

Parker's lungs heaved for air, but he pushed himself further, extending his tanned legs out beneath him, his arms pumping by his sides. He had to be in peak physical fitness if he wanted to survive. He always had to be ready to run. He hoped he didn't though, this place was beautiful, and he loved it so much he was sorely tempted to simply call it home. But he refused. Out of the few rules he had set for himself, this one rang out the strongest. No emotional attachments. They only get you killed.

Parker was thankful. No monsters had attacked him since having his demigod scent removed. In fact, since he visited the Gods, he hadn't had any contact with the demigod world. It was the mortal one that still concerned him. He knew the authorities were after him. They would be wanting to question him about how he could fight aliens, be stronger than humanly possible and leap twenty foot in the air.

He had already considered this and made a back-up plan. Parker wasn't one to plan ahead, but when his entire race, his old friends, his world, was in danger, he didn't take it lightly. He knew what he would say if he was questioned. Because of the fucking hacker, Parker already knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. would already be aware of him being kidnapped as a twelve-year-old. He would just tell them (if he got captured) that they kidnapped him and performed experiments on him. If they saw his scars (which they probably already knew about because of one overly curious and nosy Tabitha Labe) then he would say that they tortured him. It was plain and simple, as all convincing lies are.

He should be able to spend at least a few months in this beautiful paradise, so long as he didn't slip up. India had a lot of people, and Parker was one man in millions with no records or proof that he existed.

He kept running, ignoring the fire in his lungs and the burn of air on the back of his throat. Sweat stained his shirt, dripping from under his arms and the top of his chest. He felt gross, he needed a swim. Unbeknownst to him, further up the beach, a tourist was taking a photo, a photo, that the tourist noticed with distaste, was spoiled by a sweat-stained man sprinting along the beach. The tourist raised the camera and took another, one that wasn't spoiled by running randoms. The tourist smiled, that's better.

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 28/12/2012**

 **Time: 21:58**

 **Subject: Skye**

Skye was amused, Fitz and Simmons were annoying Ward again. It felt nice, being part of the team, having friends that she knew trusted her. May was another matter entirely, and one that Skye didn't want to particularly think about. She was sitting in the lab, her tablet sitting on the table in front of her as she watched their banter.

Her tablet pinged, and she picked it up in vague interest. She only had one program running, and it had been running for months – facial recognition for Percy Jackson. In all honesty, she felt that by this point, the search was a lost cause. Logging into her tablet, her eyes widened almost comically, and she staggered to her feet before running and grabbing her laptop. Settling back down in her seat, Skye immediately started typing.

A woman had just posted an image on Facebook of her trip to Goa, India. It was of a beach, a stunning beach with crystal clear water and soft, yellow sand. The picture was marred by one thing, a man, running so fast that his legs were a blur, with long unruly black hair and thick stubble on his cheeks. The wind was pushing his hair back, giving the side of his face perfect definition. It was him. It was Percy Jackson. His shirt was sweat stained, and his gaze concentrated. He was the image of determination.

Skye looked upwards with a grin on her face.

"I found him." She said.

"Found who?" Ward asked.

"Percy Jackson." She smiled. "I found Percy Jackson!"

Fitz ran for Coulson and May. He returned with them tailing behind him.

"So… You've found him." Coulson said, triumph colouring his tone.

"Well, the photo is a month old, but if he didn't know that it was taken, then there is a chance that he is still there." Skye put the photo onto the big screen. It was the first time that she had ever seen May smile. Within ten minutes, the Bus was up in the air and directed to India.

There was one thing that Skye didn't understand. Why would he run? Why would he change his name? By releasing his information to the public, Skye had set him free. He didn't have to hide anymore, he didn't have to be afraid. So why was he?

She didn't understand. She couldn't. He wouldn't have gone to this much trouble to conceal himself if he safe. And why wouldn't he be safe. Judging from the way he fought in the Chitauri invasion, Skye knew that he was able to protect himself. He didn't need to hide, not unless someone was after him. Yet, Skye couldn't help but wonder, who? Who could be chasing him? And as they hurtled through the air on their way to Goa, Skye thought, perhaps it is us that he's running from? No, that couldn't be it. So, who? Who could possibly scare _Percy Jackson_ enough to run and hide?


	8. Chapter 8

_It's late. But I lacked motivation. Once again, it remains unedited. Any and all feedback is welcome and appreciated._

 **Chapter 8**

 **Location: Goa, India**

 **Date: 29/12/2012**

 **Time: 08:47**

 **Subject: Parker James**

Parker could tell that someone was watching him, surveying his every move. Perhaps it was the tall guy with dark hair and sunglasses that stood beneath the shade of a palm tree. Maybe it was the small Asian woman sitting outside of a café. Or, it could even be the white van parked just off the beach. Maybe it was all of them. Parker considered his options. He could run, he could fight, or act oblivious. Well, technically, he was already running. And this was the first time he had noticed them, so either they had gotten sloppy, or this was the first time they were stalking him. Parker was usually pretty observant, so he decided to go with the latter.

He frowned, debating his options. He didn't want to lead them back to his hut. So that meant he would have to change his route. Alright, he decided, act natural, act exhausted, you're only half an hour into your run anyways. Parker slowed to a stop and bent over, resting his hands on his knees. He came up with a plan. He would lead them into the city, throw them off, head back to his hut to grab his stuff and leave. It was a shame, Parker loved Goa.

Straightening again, he staggered slowly up the beach towards the bustling city. He stopped at a vendor and bought a bottle of water and drinking half of it. He saved the rest of it, he might need it for later. He walked down the thin street for a few meters, noting that the man was walking about ten paces behind him. Parker could see no sign of the woman. He assumed (and of late, his assumptions had been pretty accurate) that the woman would try and trap him somewhere. But Parker had lived here for months, and he didn't settle down anywhere unless he had an escape plan. He had to draw the woman out, that the best solution. If he hurt the man, she would probably try to help her partner.

Parker ducked down an alley that was hidden behind a store. He strode down the narrow space, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to see if the guy was following him. The guy turned into the alley, his hand at his ear. Good, Parker noted with a smile, he had to make sure that the guy went down noisily, to attract his partner to the scene. He ducked around a corner and waited, smirking slightly as he heard the guy swear. He was American, probably with S.H.I.E.L.D. The man rounded the corner, and Parker leapt at him, immediately punching him in the stomach. The guy doubled over.

The guy barked out a ragged cough, "I-I need back up." Parker nodded his thanks at him before dodging his punch and fly kicking him in the side of the head. Then, using a drainage pipe on the side of the building, he scaled the two-storey wall and crouched on the edge of the roof. The woman turned down the entrance of the alley, a gun cocked and ready in her hands. Parker would need to get that off her first, either that, or go for a sneak attack. He saw her look around warily as she almost tripped over the unconscious body of her partner.

Parker leapt off the building landing silently on the balls of his feet on the hard-packed dirt behind her. Taking a quick, noiseless step, he grabbed her head and slammed it into the wall beside him. She dropped to the ground unconscious. Parker wiped his hands on his shorts before exiting the alley, only to see the white van speeding up the road towards him.

"Shit." He muttered. He took off at a run, sprinting for his life away from the vehicle. He wasn't nearly fast enough to outrun the speeding van, so he had to make up for it somewhere else. In manoeuvrability. He dodged around a corner and ran down a side street, the van still on his tail. He took another sharp turn, into yet another dark alley. The van stopped before taking off again in a squeal of tires.

Parker sighed a breath of relief and ran up the alley, already knowing where it would end up, about a mile away from the beach. His run slowed to jog, no need to tire himself out unnecessarily. After fifteen minutes, he finally reached the end of the alley. He stepped out carefully, looking either way. He strode outwards, walking along the edge of the road.

Things then happened too quickly for even Parker to comprehend. One minute he was walking, then there was a squealing of brakes, crushing pain in his side, and he was struggling to his feet, easing himself out of the crater his body had made in the wall. The van had hit him.

"Aw, fuck." He groaned, holding his ribs. Judging by how difficult it was to breathe, he knew that they were broken.

Ignoring the pain, he stood up straight, fixing a wolf glare on the driver, a small man with curly hair. He flinched. With his eyes narrowed, Parker strode forward, advancing quickly on the van, which the guy was desperately trying to put in reverse. He slammed his hand down on the bonnet, feeling a surge of satisfaction when the metal crunched and crumpled beneath his hands. The wheels on the van spun quicker, smoke drifting upwards from the tires. Parker gave a carnal grin. He could hear yelling, confirming his suspicions that there were more people in the back, and, judging by the screams, they were female.

Easing his hands out of the hand shaped dents in the metal, Parker strode around the bonnet of the van, reaching for the door. Once he knocked out whoever was in the van, he would leave, disappear, evaporate. Just as he grabbed the handle, he felt something heavy hit him between the shoulder blades. He spun around, noticing the suited man with a smug look on his face. He held a gun.

Parker raised an eyebrow, they shot him? Ignoring the van, he strode towards the suit guy, not faltering as two more shots hit him in the chest. The bastards satisfied grin faltered. He could feel his movements slowing, and his brain grew sluggish. He ripped the gun away from the smug-faced suit before swiping his legs out from underneath him. The guy fell to the ground. A mist covered his vision, slowing his mind in waist a deep fog. He collapsed to his knees, breathing deeply. Parker immediately thought about getting to water, but he had left the water bottle on the roof of the building he had scaled. He staggered to his feet, shaking off the fog that cloaked his mind. Leaning against the wall, he raised his fist, about to knock out the suited man who was getting back onto his feet.

There was the rev of an engine, before something hard hit him in his already broken side. He hit the wall with a hard thud and a crunch before the world evaporated into darkness.

 **Location: Goa, India**

 **Date: 23/11/2012**

 **Time: 11:32**

 **Subject: Leo Fitz**

Leo was in a panic. Percy Jackson had clearly noticed Ward and May, somehow managed to take them out, and then managed to lose the van. Fitz was just relieved that Skye was on her laptop, using an aerial map to tell him where the alley would end. He didn't know why he was the designated driver, but Skye had to give directions and Gemma was on call if anyone got injured. Originally, Fitz thought that that was a bit over the top. He had never been so wrong.

He'd panicked, when he saw the guy exit the alleyway. He didn't know how to stop him, after all, he had basically used himself as a human bullet that ripped through the belly of a Leviathon. How was he supposed to stop that? So, he hit him. Accelerator pressed to the floor. Then he slammed on the brakes, checking that the guy was still alive.

He was alive alright, very alive, and very angry. It was understandable, his body had left a literal crater in a stone wall. Fitz would be angry too, well, slightly more dead and broken, but definitely angry. And then the guy glared at him, and it the _scariest_ thing that Fitz had ever seen. And he lived on the same plane as Agent May. He didn't even notice that the guy had walked forwards until his hands had sunken an inch into the bonnet with an audible _crunch_.

Fitz desperately tried to put the van in reverse, his fingers fumbling at the gears and his foot slipping on the clutch. He could hear Simmons and Skye screaming at him in the back. The wheels spun and issued smoke. The man grinned. In that moment, Fitz knew that he had never been more scared, not when the Bus had a giant hole blown in it, not even when he was looking down the barrel of a gun. Percy Jackson was terrifying. Percy Jackson was dangerous.

Jackson walked around the side of the car, about to rip the door off like he had in Australia. And then Coulson shot him in the back. Fitz hadn't even realised that Coulson was there. The gun was only an icer of course, they didn't want to kill him, just restrain, asses and question him. He sighed in relief, believing that Jackson would go down. Once again, he was wrong.

Jackson spun around with blinding speed, striding towards Coulson. He fired twice more into his chest. He was slower, but no less efficient. He tore the gun from Coulson's hands and knocked him down. He tossed the gun away before falling to his knees, the dendrotoxin finally taking effect. And then he dragged himself up, leaning against the wall, shook his head, all slowness evaporated, and started to where Coulson was now climbing to his feet with a fist raised.

Fitz didn't think. He threw the van into first gear, revved the engine and slammed into him. Jackson hit the wall with a terrible _crack_ and collapsed to the ground. This time, he didn't get up.

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 23/11/2012**

 **Time: 12:12**

 **Subject: Parker James**

When Parker woke up, he was cuffed to a table. His face was pressed to the cold surface, a cold sheen of sweat coated his body. He kept his eyes closed, there was no need to inform his captors that he was awake. Parker cracked his eyelids open slightly, peering around the room through his lashes. There was, as he had suspected, a camera on the wall in the corner. The room was grey, hexagonal patterns covering the walls. The table was a cold, metal grey, and a metal chair sat empty across from him. There was no one else in the room, but he knew that they would be watching him. They would always be watching him.

Parker sat up slowly, his face blank, showing no emotion, no weakness. He noticed vaguely that his ribs were still aching, well, he told himself they were aching. They screamed at him to notice them. He focused on the pain, it didn't seem that he had a punctured lung, at least something had gone right. It was only now that he noticed the sticky sensation on his skin, gluing his shirt to his injured side. The van had broken the skin. Then he realised, the plain, black t-shirt he was wearing now was different to the pale, faded blue one he used for his runs. They had seen his scars.

His face remained cold and unyielding. Parker itched to move, to twitch his fingers, tap his feet. He quelled it with some effort, before directing his gaze onto the camera in the corner. He narrowed his gaze, unable to know that when he did so, the six pairs of eyes staring at the feed from the camera flinched.

Ignoring the pain and his cuffed hands, Parker leant backwards and propped his feet up on the table. His ribs, once again, screamed at the movement. No emotion registered on his impassive expression. He counted in his head, and when the door to the room finally opened with a hiss, he estimated that approximately fifteen minutes had passed.

He had to remain cool, calm and collected. No feeling could slip past his guard. The small, Asian woman he had knocked out entered, and he noted with the slightest satisfaction that there was a small cut on her temple and a graze on her cheek. Their encounter had left a mark. The woman sat down across from him.

"I am Agent Main, from the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division, and you, Percy Jackson, are of great interest to us."

Percy stared at her coolly. She was lying. Not about S.H.I.E.L.D., not about him, but it was a false name, a cover identity.

"How can you expect me to tell the truth, when you won't allow me the same privilege?" He asked, his face blank, his eyes dead.

She started in response, her eye twitching in an infinitesimal movement. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Oh, I think you do." Percy chuckled without humour, "Your name isn't _Agent Main_ , though I don't doubt that you are an agent." Her eye twitched again. "Main…" he said slowly, taking in the details of her face, waiting for the tell-tale signs of the truth.

"Mary… Melissa… Madeline… Maia… May." Her eyelid twitched on the last suggestion. Percy gave a joyless smile. "Well, Agent _May_ , if you would please fetch your smug-faced bastard of a boss, I would like to _speak_ to him."

May's face paled as he guessed her name. How had he known? _How had he known?_ She stood abruptly, her chair toppling over. Percy stared at her as she hurriedly left the room before fixing his blank eyes on the camera once more. His feet still rested on the table. He could escape easily, if he wished, he would only need to dislocate his thumbs. But he wanted to know what S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted, aside from information.

In one smooth motion that was as quick as lightning, Percy swept his feet off the table, keeping his eyes on the camera. He knew that they would be talking, planning a way to question him, to make him confess his secrets. They would be sorely disappointed.

The heavy grey door swept open once more. Smug-face entered. Percy stared blankly at him, noting how the man's eyes attached themselves to him in interest. He sat, Percy stared.

Leaning forward, the man said in a voice that was as annoying as his face, "Mr Jackson, you are a very impressive individual." It was a statement, not intended to receive an answer. Percy gave none. "In addition to your rather colourful history and schooling, it appears that you have some form of super strength and the ability to easily jump 20 feet into the air. You are also rather accomplished in combat, as demonstrated in the Battle of New York, the event in which you lost your parents. Care to explain how you gained these abilities?"

A small smile curved Percy's mouth. "How about this," he suggested, "I answer your questions and you answer mine, because you know as well as I do, that the minute that I wish to break out of these cuffs, I will, and only a bullet in the head will be able to stop me. Now first, I will ask you an easy one, see how we go, okay?" He didn't wait for an answer, "What is your name?"

"Phil Coulson." The suit replied.

Percy leaned back in his chair once more, seemingly relaxed, "Your turn, Agent Coulson."

Phil simply stared at him. He wasn't used to someone else, especially someone so young, controlling the interrogation. Percy motioned for him to continue.

"What are your abilities?"

Percy shrugged, "Basically what you saw in New York. I'm fast and strong, and I can jump reasonably high. The names and roles of the people in your 'team', what are they?"

Coulson frowned, "I am the leader of the team. Agent May, whom you've already met, flies the plane, Agent Ward is a specialist, Agent Fitz is our engineer, Agent Simmons is our biochemist and Skye is our hacker. Where were you trained?" Percy noted that this 'Skye' person hadn't been addressed as an agent. Interesting.

"In a cellar by my captors." He answered. "Why have you been chasing me?"

"We were worried that you were a threat. You possess… remarkable abilities that could be dangerous if they fall into the wrong hands."

"You mean any hands that aren't S.H.I.E.L.D." Percy interrupted.

Coulson considered him for a moment before continuing, "We wished to assess you, work out where your loyalties lie, determine whether you are to be a member of the Avengers, an asset for S.H.I.E.L.D., or even, an independent party, such as a vigilante. How did you get your abilities?"

"Experiment by my kidnappers when I was twelve. Are you ever going to stop chasing me?"

"Sounds like you almost expect to be leaving here." Coulson said with an eyebrow raised. Percy grinned. "We will never stop chasing you. We will never stop hunting you, not until we know that you pose no threat to innocent people. What did this experiment entail?"

"I don't know. Needles? I was twelve. I've tried my damn best to leave that behind me. Before the Battle of New York, did S.H.I.E.L.D. have any knowledge or suspicion of me?"

He shook his head at the question. "There were alarm bells raised when you were accused of kidnapping your mother, but when that was cleared up, S.H.I.E.L.D. quickly lost interest. Apart from that, we had no idea of what you were, a fact that many in my organisation find highly disturbing. Are there any others like you?"

Percy cocked his head and considered for a moment. "No. I don't believe so. The only other person I saw, apart from my captors, was my mother, who was used as a hostage to make sure I complied. How did you find me this time?"

"Skye uncovered a photo taken by a tourist. You were in the background. It wasn't difficult once she had found it, she's had experience in searching for you before." Percy raised an eyebrow slightly and began to dislocate his thumbs in a subtle gesture. The conversation was reaching breaking point. But the knowledge that Skye had not only searched, but found information was intriguing.

Interesting, he thought once again, could she be the hacker who exposed him to the public?

Coulson didn't seem to notice his change in expression. "How did you get those scars?"

Percy masked his rapid intake of breath and slowly slipped his hands out of the cuffs.

"You know, the usual," he said shrugging, "torture and abuse. Nothing too creative. I believe it's why I now have such a high pain tolerance."

Coulson quirked a brow. "Pain tolerance?" He said, sounding confused.

Percy gave a mirthless grin. "Yeah, it hardly even hurt when I dislocated my thumbs." He wiggled his fingers in Coulson's face. He instinctively leant back, his eyes wide with shock. But Percy moved in a blur too quick for the eye to follow and leaning forward, slammed Coulson's head down on the cold, metal table hard enough to stun him. He needed him conscious. The man groaned. Percy stood up and strode around the small table, pressing Coulson's face into the table.

He knew that the spectators on the other side of the security camera would be panicking and rushing to help. It was just what he wanted. Percy leant close to the man's exposed ear.

His next words were barely a whisper as they tickled gently just loud enough for Coulson to hear it. "Is Skye the hacker that released my life to the public? Is she the one who ruined my life?"

Coulson didn't say a word, not willing to betray a member of his team. Percy smiled at him, just one corner of his mouth tilting upwards. "Loyalty." He said, savouring the word slowly, "Perhaps you're not as big a dick as I thought." Another punch to the head knocked Phil out.

Percy knew that wherever he stood in the small interrogation room, he would be in full view of the camera. So he merely stood in the middle, his posture seeming relaxed, but beneath it, was the almost invisible undercurrent of anticipation. A tensing of muscles, his feet slightly spread in a fighting stance, his hands still and steady. Percy was fully prepared for the fight to come. He welcomed it.

The tall, dark-haired man charged through the door first, a gun cocked in his hands. He fired immediately at Percy, who tumbled into a neat roll that brought him standing again, inside the tall man's guard.

"You must be Agent Ward." The man grunted, throwing a heavy punch at him. Percy ducked beneath it, before bringing one foot up and pushing the man back with a heavy flat-footed kick to the centre of his chest. He staggered back onto the wall and Percy aimed a quick, solid jab at the Ward's wrist, forcing him to drop the gun. He picked it up and pointed it at Ward. A small tag on the grip marked it as and icer, which Percy assumed was the same one they had shot at him in Goa. He took the chance, and fired it into Agent Ward's leg. There was no blood, but he dropped like a felled tree.

He turned, and, barely sparing a glance, he shot Coulson in the head. Tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans, he peered carefully out the door before slinking down the hallways outside of it, his feet moving soundlessly over the ground. There were still four people to contend with on this craft (A plane perhaps? He knew it wasn't a boat.) and he wasn't going to let them get the better of him. His ribs still screamed and jabbed at him painfully, and Percy knew, that if he didn't ignore the pain and develop a good guard over that side of his torso, a well-placed blow could finish the fight for him. And not favourably.

Percy crept down the wall on silent ghosting feet. This was it.


	9. Chapter 9

_Unedited. Sorry it's late, but I do have a (somewhat) valid excuse. I broke my nose. And then my dog was diagnosed with cancer. Not to mention that I'm moving. And I've been trying to organise Christmas. So… in other words. I'm sorry that it took almost a month, and thanks for listening to my bullshit._

 **Chapter 9**

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 23/11/2012**

 **Time: 12:44**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

The hallway was clear, so empty, it almost felt sterile. Percy could feel his muscles tightening in anticipation. At this point, he was at a disadvantage. There were four people still awake on this craft, and he knew that one of them was a skilled fighter. He had broken ribs and a pounding headache, and to top it off, he was sure that these people were following his every move with the security cameras hidden around the room. He forced himself to relax. These people fought with precision, with structure. Percy knew that he would have to be fluid, unpredictable. Just like the sea. To prove his point, he waved at the camera across the hall from him, offering it a lopsided grin. Four pairs of eyes on the other side flinched.

Percy rolled his shoulders, ignoring the stabbing pain that erupted on his side. With a heavy sigh, he strode forward, better to get it over and done with. Turning to look at the camera again, he gave it a fierce wolf glare, simultaneously manipulating the water vapour on the glass to crack the lens and blow up the camera.

He smirked, let them wonder how that happened. The longer they questioned and doubted him, the better. Percy's feet carried him to the end of the hallway, and, using the water vapour in the air, he sensed what was around the corner. Some furniture, more furniture, a big glass table, and… success. There was a change in density, an increase in fluid. Either someone was standing right on the other side of the wall, or there was a human shaped bag of blood sitting there. The latter seemed a bit weird, so Percy went with the first option. The person's heartbeat was steady, unchanging. They were experienced, and wouldn't let emotion get the better of them. May, he decided.

There was only one thing to do. Percy rounded the corner.

The woman leapt at him, her foot flying straight at his face. To May's absolute surprise (and secretly Percy's), he caught her kick. With a simple thrust, she was thrown back around the corner. He clenched his hands into fists and followed her, his long strides taking him to her in seconds. She scrambled to her feet, launching into a series of attacks that would have thrown off any other opponent. Percy merely grinned.

He watched her fighting style. It was uniform, routine, practiced. It was predictable. He was content to simply observe for now. To uncover her weaknesses. She fought, Percy noticed, with a consistent rhythm, and, if he were to suddenly increase the pace in his attacks, he could catch her off guard and easily defeat her. May, seeming to sense that he was slightly distracted, kicked him hard in the ribs. His broken his ribs.

It was instantaneous, it was reflex. Percy doubled up, shielding his broken side from her attacks. And she struck again, like a snake, sensing the weakness in its prey. May's delivered him a resounding punch in the nose. He reeled backwards, hands clutching his face as blood began to pour from his nostrils and down his chin. The agent watched him, a look of smug satisfaction etched across her face. Percy removed his hands from his face, a feral grin twisting his blood-stained lips. Now this, was more like it.

Percy launched himself at her. He fought like a hurricane, like the unpredictability of the broiling sea. There was no pattern to his style, no link between each attack. His eyes swirled like the sea, a sea, that would never, and could never, be restrained. May was losing. She knew it. He knew it. Just like he had planned, Percy increased his tempo. May stumbled back, clearly not expecting it. And, in a blur too quick to be entirely human, Percy had her face pressed against the wall, her arms twisted behind her back. He chuckled, a low deep mirthless sound that sent shivers down her spine. Pulling the icer out of the waistband of his pants, Percy shot her in the back of her head, not bothering to catch her as she collapsed.

A sudden pain ripped through the flesh of his calf muscle, and he looked down as the sound of the shot met his ears. Percy looked up, immediately meeting the eyes of the shooter. It was the driver of the van. Agent Fisk.

Percy cocked his head slightly to the side, taking in the small man in front of him. Dully, in the back of his mind, he was reminded of Leo. But that thought hurt, and brought with it emotions that Percy never wanted to experience again. He pushed them down irritably. Emotion, feelings, got you killed. He had to indifferent, cold. Percy's face settled into a mask. Raising his gun and barely aiming, Percy shot Fisk in the chest.

Four down, two to go. And Agent Skye was one of them.

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 23/11/2012**

 **Time: 12:55**

 **Subject: Gemma Simmons**

Gemma was scared shitless. There was no shame in that. Percy Jackson had taken out Coulson and Ward, with seemingly no effort, got into a fist fight with May and _won_ before shooting Fisk in the chest with an icer, not to mention the fact that he had at least four broken ribs and now had a broken nose and a bullet wound straight through the calf of his leg. Gemma thought that some fear was deserved. After all, Jackson was coming for her and Skye next.

Skye, however, didn't seem worried. Perhaps it was because she had released all his information to the public, and thought that one some twisted level, he'd thank her? Gemma merely bit her lip and got on with it. She knew that if someone had released sensitive, private information about her to the media a mere week after the death of her parents, she would be pretty peeved.

She felt bad for Percy Jackson, truly she did. He had lost everything, and seemed to have nothing left. And then he was pursued across the globe, and forced to take different identities in order to stay unnoticed. Maybe she just wanted to see the good in everyone, but Simmons couldn't help but believe that Percy was a decent person. After all, he had helped that man's dog back in Australia, and then he had saved a woman's life. And, there was footage of Jackson literally jumping in front of people to protect them in the Battle of New York.

But, she was still afraid. The man had used himself as a human bullet to rip through the stomach of a Chitauri Leviathon, and now he was coming for her. And Skye.

Gemma watched through the security camera as Jackson tucked his gun back into his shorts. It had been her job to examine him when he was brought in to make sure that his injuries weren't life threatening. His four broken ribs would be painful, for sure. But they hadn't punctured anything, so Simmons gave him the all clear. But what was truly terrifying, was the scars. They covered every inch of his torso, and ran down his arms. In fact, she was kind of surprised that they hadn't noticed them before. They were of every variety; slashes, burns, punctures, scratches, and, thinking back to a certain Tabitha Lane, evidence that he had been lashed. The scars blended together, criss-crossing over each other to create a gruesome carpet of despair and pain. She couldn't imagine how much each of those had hurt. She didn't want to.

She watched the screen as the man in question eased off his shirt and wrapped it around the bullet wound in his leg. Good, she thought, that way he won't bleed out. He then strode forward, all evidence of his wounded leg gone. Just like that, the pain seemingly evaporated. He was coming her way. Out the door, descending the stairs, and looking through the glass of the lab. Gemma could only stare at him, as he fixed his gaze upon her.

Percy reached for the button for the door, and Simmons cursed herself for not thinking to lock it. Percy Jackson entered the lab.

"Are you Skye?" He asked her, shocking her out of her stupor. His voice was deep, melodious, and, without knowing why, it reminded her of the roaring of the sea. A sound that masked so much, so much life, so much pain. Gemma shook her head dumbly, her mouth slightly hanging open.

"I-I'm Agent Gemma Simmons." She stuttered. He nodded at her.

"The biochemist?"

She nodded.

"Good. Could you straighten my nose please?" Jackson didn't wait for an answer, instead choosing to perch himself on the edge of the glass table. She cocked her head to the side. This man was a mystery. She couldn't work him out. First he takes out a third of the team, and then sits down and, ever so politely, asks her to help him. Simmons nodded her head.

"This might hurt," she told him as she pulled his face down to her height gently, ignoring the rough stubble and still damp blood that covered the bottom half of his face. She placed her thumb on the side of the curve of his broken nose.

"3, 2, 1." _Click._ Gemma winced.

"Mother fucker." He muttered, flinching. Simmons' face remained screwed up, waiting for her imminent doom. To her utter disbelief, Percy Jackson smiled. Not a sadistic, mirthless, smirk-like smile she had seen so far, but a lopsided smile, one that was truly genuine. It transformed his face, and for the first time, she saw him as handsome. No, not handsome, it went beyond that. Percy Jackson's face was breathtakingly beautiful. His eyes were a clashing symphony of greens and blues, that somehow seemed to imitate the crashing waves of the ocean. Gemma could feel herself drowning in them, losing herself in their crystalline depths.

"Thankyou." Percy said, his voice full of warmth. She started, in spite of herself, his deep, husky voice taking her by surprise. Gemma, to her absolute surprise, felt the heat of a blush creep slowly up her cheeks. Jackson seemed not to notice, or perhaps he was just distracted, because Skye was pressing the barrel of a gun, not an icer, a _genuine, potentially fatal_ gun into the back of his head.

The smile slipped off his face so quickly that Gemma, for a second, doubted whether she had even seen it in the first place. He turned to face Skye, hands raised slightly in the air.

To her absolute surprise, there was a twisted smirk on Percy's face.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Agent Skye. Wait, I'm sorry. There's no _Agent_ there, is there? No. you're they're hacker. And, if my assumptions are correct, you haven't been working with S.H.I.E.L.D. from the start. They probably brought you in, as a suspect or something, most likely for finding and releasing information that you shouldn't have."

Skye gaped at him in shock.

"So, I am going to ask you once, and once only. Did you release my information to the public? Are you the person that ruined my life?"

"Ruined your life!" She spluttered indignantly. "I helped you. I set you free! Without me, you would be living in fear. Without me, you would still be hiding."

"And what do you think I was doing in Goa? Having a holiday?" His tone was dark, forbidding. Internally, Gemma pleaded for Skye to shut up. But outwardly, she couldn't move, frozen in either fear or shock, she couldn't tell.

"You don't have to hide anymore." Skye implored, her hands shaking slightly on the gun. "I set you free." She whispered.

"You put a target on my back, you forced me to live my life on the run, to take a new identity, to _change who I was._ Because of you, the graves of my parents have been desecrated. I returned to them you know, after the funerals. I went back to their graves, to pay my respects before I left, only to find the place flooded with reporters, making a spectacle of their deaths, trampling over Paul's grave to get a good shot of my mother's. Because of you, Skye," he spat, "I lost my parents, my privacy and my identity in the space of two weeks. Does that sound like freedom to you? You didn't release me. You made me a cage, with bars of steel that I'll never be able to escape from.

"I ask you this, would you want every aspect of _your_ life released to the world? No… you wouldn't. But I bet you didn't even hesitate. Didn't even think before you hit send. Because it wasn't your life you were ruining. It wasn't your identity you were broadcasting. And so, I have one final question, are you selfish, or simply ignorant?"

Skye shook her head, her grip tightening on the gun. Percy pressed his forehead to the barrel, staring down at her.

"Do it. Pull the trigger. It's surprisingly easy you know. One twitch of a finger and I'm dead. One miniscule movement, and you'll have done your country a service. You'll have removed a threat, saved the world from a possibly awful fate. But can you do it? Can you truly take a life? Do me a favour, and pull the goddam trigger. _I dare you!_ "

Tears began to trickle down Skye's cheeks. Gemma stood in shock. It was in this moment that she saw Percy Jackson for who he truly was. Broken. Alone. Desperate. He wanted to die, she realised in shock. He truly wanted to die. But he wouldn't do it himself, or he'd be dead already. Instead he would wait for when the time comes, and accept his fate with open arms. It was so sad. It was so confronting, to see someone, someone she had always considered a hero, as so terribly broken… so irreparably damaged. It was almost blindingly powerful.

Jackson stepped forward, the barrel of the gun drawing a thin line of blood on his forehead. Skye mutely shook her head. With a sigh, and a movement quicker than humanly possible, Percy ripped the gun away from her.

"You coward. You fucking coward." And then in one swift motion, Percy shot her in the head.

Gemma screamed, thinking that he had just killed her friend. He turned to her with an eyebrow raised, almost as if he forgot she was there.

"I didn't kill her." He spoke in monotone. "I used one the other gun. The knockout one? The label called it an icer?"

Simmons stumbled back into the lab wall, slowly sliding downwards until she settled in a crouch. She was in shock. Percy stepped forwards and crouched in front of her, gently taking her hands in his.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't… I don't mean to act like this. Would you believe me if I said I used to be a good person? Aw… who am I kidding… I've always been a bad bastard. I'm sorry, okay? I'm just… I'm sorry."

And then he stood, running a hand through his messy raven hair. It was long, almost reaching his shoulders, and Gemma couldn't help but dazedly wonder if he realised how long it had gotten.

"Just… wait here. I'll be back." Gemma nodded her head and he disappeared, out of the lab and upstairs. He reappeared a few minutes later, with Coulson and Ward slung over his shoulders unconscious. He dropped them to the ground and, using zip ties that he had no idea where he'd found them, tied their hands behind their backs. Percy disappeared again, before once again entering the lab with May and Fisk. He repeated the process.

She couldn't help but worry about Fisk. What was he thinking, trying to take on Percy Jackson? To be fair though, he had managed to shoot him. Gemma frowned, it was only now that she realised that he was walking normally, as if the wound didn't hurt him at all.

"Your leg?" She asked, hating herself for the obvious quaking in her voice. He looked around at her, a single brow quirked questioningly. "Your leg. You were shot. Doesn't it hurt?"

Percy laughed dully, it was dry, and humourless. "After you get injured enough you learn to ignore it. I can still feel it for sure, but I suppose I've grown so used to it that it doesn't incapacitate me anymore."

It was horrible, that someone could become so used to pain that they grew used to it. It was almost as if he expected it, and for one inexplicable moment, Simmons could see where he was coming from, why he would wish for death.

He left the room once again, and Gemma heard a light, metallic _shick_ sound, before he entered again, holding a bronze coloured, uncapped pen. He bent down in front of her again scribbled a number on her hand. The ink almost seemed to glow.

"If you ever need help, call that number, and I'll help you out. But… if you set up a trap, know that nothing, absolutely nothing, will ever get me to trust you again." She nodded, before frowning as Jackson zip tied her hands together.

"What are you doing?" she asked, slightly curious, and slightly afraid.

"She can release you when she wakes up. We're above the ocean, right?"

She nodded again.

Percy Jackson grinned at her. "I thought so."

He strode out of the lab, and Gemma watched through the glass walls as he passed the vehicles and pressed the red button on the wall. The ramp lowered. Percy Jackson walked to the edge and turned, giving her a mesmerising lopsided smile and a salute.

And then he fell backwards.

And then he was gone.


	10. Chapter 10

_So… it has been brought to my attention that I have misspelled the names of Leopald Fitz and Jemma Simmons. Sorry. Like I said, unedited. This chapter is the same. It's a bit of a filler. The next one will have more action._

 **Chapter 10**

 **Location: Indian Ocean**

 **Date: 23/11/2012**

 **Time: 01:21**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

He hit the water with an audible _smack_. It enveloped him, whooshing the air out of his lungs and leaving his breathless. He'd sunk twenty feet deep beneath the surface. Percy took a deep breath, feeling the water tickle the back of his throat. It was soothing, and he took a deep breath before sighing. He could feel himself heal in the saltwater, watched as the flesh on his calf knit itself back together, his ribs crack back into place, and the swelling bruises on his face recede. And yet, something still hurt, something inside of him ached. And he didn't know why.

Percy didn't know what he was supposed to feel. Angry, about the troubles that had befallen him? Perhaps relieved, that he'd finally confronted the woman that was the tipping stone of the failure of his life? Hades, Percy would even take confused or hungry. But he wasn't either of those things, he was just… empty. He felt nothing. And this scared him more than anything he had ever felt before. More than Kronos, more than Gaea. This hollow empty feeling, burrowed deep inside of him. It was terrifying.

He floated adrift, suspended beneath the surface as he gazed blankly up at the sun dappled surface. What was the point? Why should he keep going? He had nothing left to live for anyways. It was almost as bad as the River of Lamentation. But instead of drowning in despair, it was something worse, he was drowning in indifference. Percy had reached the stage where he really didn't care if he lived or died. It was petrifying.

No, he told himself, snap out of it. Forward, always. It would become his new motto. His motivation. Forward, always. After all, where else was there to go. So he swam, skimming a few feet below the surface, faster than what was considered humanly 'possible'. He collected his belongings from Goa, dug up the tin of cash he had buried under the hut, found a place to hide the majority of his belongings. There weren't many in the first place, and he packed the rest in a bag before diving back into the ocean.

He needed to lie low for a while, or at least until their fevered searching dies down. And the last place they'd expect is on the ocean floor. He set himself up a sort of hut-tent thing, by pushing two slabs of rock together to form a triangle. And that was where he lived. For a year.

Percy had no way of knowing how much time he'd spent beneath the sea. He would train consistently, when it felt like equal amounts of time between each session. In all honesty, he didn't entirely understand what he was training for. There were no foreseeable fights in his future, not unless the Gods needed him, but he trained in spite of it. It took Percy a few months to come to his answer, to decided _why_. It was in his nature, he reasoned, he was born a fighter. It was all he truly knew, so it made sense, that even if he didn't need to, he trained anyways.

It was lonely, at the bottom of the sea. He had no one to talk too, aside from the occasional fish that would gawk in amazement at his presence before hurriedly swimming off in another direction, presumably to tell his father. So Percy had taken to humming to himself, simply as a way to break the silence. He didn't want to talk to himself… he'd always heard that it was the first sign of madness. Percy wasn't insane, or perhaps he was… he didn't know anymore. But he knew he didn't want to talk to himself, so he took to humming, just to hear a human voice.

And so, a year later, Percy left his home, packed his very few belongings, and left. He revisited Goa, where he'd left his money, extra clothes, etcetera. And then he left India. _Forwards, always._

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 5/12/2013**

 **Time: 16:12**

 **Subject: Skye**

Skye felt awful. In all her life, she had never, _never_ felt so guilty. So worthless. She had ruined a man's life, forced him to hide as she, herself chased him. She was a despicable human being, and she hated herself for it.

A tear trickled down her cheek. This was all her fault. Everything was always her fault. Skye clutched her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth slightly as sobs rammed their way up her throat. She gasped for air. She felt someone settle on the couch next to her. Skye ignored them. Her own guilt was bad enough… she didn't need anybody else making it any worse. A hand began to rub her back.

"He wouldn't want you to act like this, you know." A soft, feminine voice said, thick with a British accent. It was Simmons.

Skye turned to look at her, a single brow raised over puffy, red raw eyes. She wiped at the tear stains on her cheeks, imploring her to continue.

"It seems to me," Jemma began slowly, "That Percy Jackson, is someone who admires strength. Someone, who keeps going, no matter the consequences or implications, and I think that the best way for to earn his forgiveness. Yes… earn it," she said, taking note of Skye's expression, "I don't think he is the type to give it to you. The best way for you to earn his forgiveness, is to simply move past it."

"You… you want me to forget that I did all those things?" Skye asked incredulously.

"No. Never forget. Only a fool would forget. No, I mean move on. Stop wallowing in self-pity and guilt, and get on with your life. I think he would respect that. I would respect that. The time for grief is over, Skye, it's time to redeem yourself and move on."

Skye nodded slowly. Jemma was right.

 **Location: Scotland**

 **Date: 1/1/2014**

 **Time: 11:09**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

He lived in a lake. It was a little weird and the fish kept staring at him, but overall, it could be worse. The small village four kilometres away, was separated from his home by a forest, tall and lush, with trees that felt as though they had lived for eons.

The children in the village were cruel. They would throw stones at Percy when he passed, after all, he was known as the crazy homeless guy who lived in the woods. He understood why the village residents thought of him as such. His clothes were ripped and worn, his wild black hair was long and tangled, now reaching just below his shoulders, and a thick beard covered his cheeks. Percy hadn't shaved since Goa. There was no reason to when you lived at the bottom of the Indian Ocean.

Percy often wondered if he had made the wrong decision in leaving the apparent safety of the sea, but after time, he had come to crave human contact, and the isolation was slowly driving him mad. So he left, he made an attempt to live normally. That was the reason why he had left the Greek world in the first place, to live an ordinary life. That, and the fact that he knew his mother wouldn't want him to be alone forever.

And here he was. In Scotland. Living in a lake.

Percy stood from his sitting position beneath the lake, and stretched his arms, feeling the sockets twist and pop. He had lived here for two months, and ventured into the village once a week to purchase supplies from the local store. His head broke the surface of the water, causing ripples to spread across the almost unnaturally still water. There was no breeze today, not even a whisper in the still air. It felt too quiet, too tame. Like the calm before the storm. It was unnerving.

He strode through the forest, his feet treading the worn path silently. Animals flitted through the trees ahead of him, and, for the first time in years, Percy found the world beautiful. Sunlight dappled the path in front of him, filling the world with ethereal light. He walked onwards, deeper and deeper through the trees, until the dappling light faded, and the animals grew more scarce. He was deep within the forest now, the trees feeling as ancient as the Gods themselves. It was deathly silent.

Until he heard a voice. The voice of a young girl, singing softly in the dim light. Curious, Percy pressed onwards, scratching his head in confusion. Why would a young girl be in the middle of the forest? Unless it was a monster. His hand curled around Riptide. If it was a monster, it wouldn't be alive for very long.

The girl looked to be about seven years old, and she was crouched in the middle of a clearing, her small hands delicately cupping a flower bud. Her voice was high and sweet, and as clear as a cloudless sky. It was beautiful. Her crooning voice became stronger, and the flower opened it's petals to reveal a wild flower of a deep blushing red. The child laughed, a light tinkling sound, that was so joyful and innocent, that Percy knew it didn't belong in a world as savage as this one.

Without making a sound, he continued walking, his head filled with thoughts of the girl, and his ears ringing with her sweet song. She could be a demigod, he decided, and, by the looks of it, a child of Demeter. There was always the possibility that she was an enhanced, but at her age, it seemed unlikely. Percy broke through the edge of the trees, squinting at the sudden burst of dazzling sunlight. The village lay spread in front of him, bustling with activity. Taking a breath, Percy stepped forward, preparing himself for the onslaught of judgement that was sure to accompany his presence.

As he strode through the narrow, cobbled streets, he could hear the carrying whispers, see the pointed fingers, sense the unwarranted accusations. A boy threw a stick. He dodged it. The little shit cackled, before lobbing an apple at Percy's head. In a smooth, blurred motion, Percy plucked the apple from the air and took a bite, giving the boy a carnal, threatening grin. He averted his eyes and turned away. Percy's grin widened.

Turning into the corner shop, he could sense the mood dampening, the sudden shuffling in the other direction, the muted mutters of apology. Percy looked at them. They flinched. Was his appearance so threatening? Was he so unkept that they thought he was a threat to their safety? Perhaps he should clean himself up, at least a little bit. He grabbed a packet of razors. What the hell. Why not. It had been over a year since he had disappeared into the ocean. Surely, they wouldn't still be looking for him. He grabbed the rest of his supplies before heading to the counter.

"How much?" He asked gruffly, his voice deep and rough from misuse.

"Thirty-seven pounds." The cashier replied, not looking at him directly.

Percy slid the money across the counter, ignoring the girl's flinch when his hand brushed hers.

"Have a nice day." He told her curtly. He picked up the paper bag with a single hand and left. He didn't need their judgement. He didn't care for their disapproval.

Percy dawdled back through the streets, savouring the presence of other human's, even if it wasn't favourable. With a fatal flaw of loyalty, he craved connections with people, as reason to fight, a reason to survive. But he couldn't do it. He couldn't allow himself to establish friendships. They would be his destruction.

It was just as he was thinking this that he saw the girl again, skipping down the road past him, not sparing the crazy, homeless guy a second glance. Her hair was chestnut brown, her eyes a pale, leafy green. He skin was as white as fresh fallen snow, and Percy couldn't help but think that she was the cutest little girl that he had ever seen. She skipped into the open door of the florist, calling to her father. Definitely a daughter of Demeter.

Percy shook his head. What did it matter to him? It wasn't part of his life anymore. And besides, her life wasn't threatened, he hadn't seen any sign of monsters or danger. Why should he uproot her life and destroy her childhood needlessly? It wasn't his business. _She_ wasn't his responsibility. Percy put his head down. No connections. No emotions. With his bearded face a cold, blank canvas, Percy walked on.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

 **Location: Scotland**

 **Date: 8/18/2014**

 **Time: 13:52**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

Her name was Flora. Flora Kilpatrick. It was kind of ironic really, that a daughter of Demeter was named Flora. But who was Percy to judge? His mother had named him Perseus. No, he told himself, don't think about Sally. Don't think about Paul. _Forwards, always._

He was clean shaven now. Percy thought it would help him, but he still got stared at. The only bright side was that these stares weren't filled with hate. This way was better. He saw the girl every time he went into town. Singing in the woods. Once, he even saw her on the bank of his lake, murmuring to the water lilies that would tremble and shudder in pleasure, sending ripples across the surface of the lake, to where, deep below its depths, he could sense them.

Her father owned the florist, and sometimes, Percy found himself lingering outside, craving the contact of someone like him, desiring, above anything else in the world, a friendship. Then he would shake his head, his hopeful sea green eyes growing cold. No connections. No emotions.

Flora's father's name was Adam. He was tall, almost Percy's height, and as thin as a rake. His hands were strong and callused, his nails encrusted with dirt from his garden. Adam was a nervous man, fidgeting and twitching in the presence of other people. But in the garden, he was unstoppable. Pure confidence shined out of his narrow face, matching his quickly moving and adept hands as they dug up weeds, planted flowers and trimmed bushes. If there was one thing that could be said about Adam Kilpatrick, he was a hell of a gardener.

And Flora was by his side for every second of it, her face shining with joy as her father told her the properties of a herb, taught her how to make a cutting of a plant, showed her how to properly arrange the flowers.

Percy watched all of this from afar. Never talking to them, never interceding. He realised that it seemed stalkerish, he accepted that it was a little bit weird. But Flora was a demigod, and judging from that day in the woods and her age, she was exceptionally powerful. She was seven years old. Too young to protect herself and her father from any monsters that may come sniffing. So Percy watched. And he kept her safe.

No satyrs came. No campers. No aid from the Gods. It was just Percy. And for once, he felt he was doing enough.

And then finally, the day came. He was buying his groceries when he heard the scream. Just as he was passing over the money, completely oblivious to the blush rising on the cashier girl's cheeks, a scream split the air. It was filled with terror, with despair. With rage. He dropped the money. He dropped his groceries. Percy ran, pushing open the door with such force that the glass shattered, sprinting down the street until he reached the florist.

Percy forced himself to stop. To analyse the situation. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he flicked the lid off Riptide, feeling the familiar soft leather of the hilt, and for a moment, just a moment, he realised how much he missed this. The feeling of anticipation, the rush of adrenaline, the fight to stay alive. Percy opened the door slowly, looking around the shop with narrowed eyes. It was smashed up; shelves fallen over, dirt and crushed flowers spilling onto the floor, turning into a muddy mix from the water of smashed vases. His eyes darted everywhere. Taking in everything.

Whatever was attacking was big. And, judging by the damage, there was more than one of them.

The shop was in the shape of an L, with the counter up one end, and in the far back corner, were the plants that took up a lot of room. Vines, cactuses, all sorts of weird, pungent giant flowers. It was there that Flora sat. Her mouth was open in fear, her chestnut hair falling in disarray around her small face. Her green eyes were glassy, covered with a thick coating of unshed tears. She was staring at the ground in front of her, at the body of her father, his eyes still open in death.

The hellhounds advanced closer. There were four. But Percy could see that there used to be at least six. A fine layer of gold dust mixed with the muddied floor. Even as he watched, the fifth monster let out a pain-filled whine before evaporating into dust, the vines strangling it finally becoming too much to bear.

Percy let out a war cry and whirled into motion, slicing through the remaining monsters from behind. Within seconds, one was dead. The other three growled at him, pacing around him in a circle, Flora all but forgotten. He smiled. That was what he wanted. A hellhound lunged, its mouth open wide, attempting to but off his head with its powerful jaws. Percy stepped forward to meet it, plunging his sword upward, through the roof of its mouth and into its brain. The red eyes rolled backwards, and it erupted, decorating the bronze with flecks of gold.

Percy was already moving, his sword swinging in a dizzying motion as he turned. One slash later, and the next monster was dead. The last one let out a whimper, trying to back away.

"That's right. You recognise me, don't you? Well… you're not wrong. You will never come after this girl again. Do you hear me? You will _never_ try and hurt her again!"

The hellhound whined its assent. Percy killed it.

He turned to Flora, watching in pity as the seven-year-old cried over her father's corpse.

"Are you okay?" He asked, crouching in front of her, "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head.

"Good. I'm going to keep you safe, okay? I'm going to protect you." He scooped the girl into his arms, cradling her against his chest as she cried. "My names Percy, what's yours?" he asked her as he kicked open the front door, the chiming bell a stark contrast against the severity of the situation.

"Flora" the girl whispered.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you Flora." Tucking her small form closer against his chest, he tried to shield her from the penetrating stares of the gaping town residents.

Percy increased his pace.

It was only when he reached the clearing where he first saw her that he sat her down.

"Your father is dead." He said, his voice not unkind. "There is no avoiding that. We need to leave here. We can't stay in Scotland any longer. It's not safe for you here." She let out another barrage of fresh tears, and Percy realised that he'd been too harsh. He sighed. "You know, I lost my parents too." She looked up at him with wide, green eyes. "Yeah, they were killed by monsters as well. And do you know what I did? I hurt the monsters, just like I did with your father. And, there is no need to be sad. Your dad died a hero, and when heroes die, they go to a special place called Elysium, where that can be happy and live in luxury forever. He is in a better place now. And you're safe. So there's no need for tears, there's no need to cry."

He offered Flora a smile, it widened when Flora gave a shaky nod and a watery one in return.

"Good." He said, "And now, I have a very important question to ask you. Do you want to ride piggyback." Without waiting for an answer, he scooped her up and slung her across his back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Almost imperceptibly, in a voice barely above a whisper, Percy heard her say, "Thankyou."

And for the first time in two years, he was content.

He paid a visit to the lake and fetched his stuff. And they walked. Well, Percy walked. They trekked their way to Aberdeen. And then into the ocean. Percy formed a giant bubble in the water for him and Flora, and then they were speeding on their way for America. Camp would be the only safe place for her now.

For the first day, there was no conversation as Flora came to terms with her grief. On the second day, she asked for food. He gave her some. Percy was fine with the silence, after all, he had lived with it for the past year. But Flora's silence wasn't healthy. So Percy started humming, it was nothing special, just John Lennon's Imagine. But soon enough, when he reached the chorus, she joined in. Percy smiled lopsidedly at her.

"So, Flora, how old are you? Because, judging how well you handle yourself you have to be at least ten years old, right?"

She giggled. "I'm seven. How old are you?"

Percy opened his mouth to reply when he stopped. With slight shock, he realised that he'd missed his last two birthdays, the latest of which being the day of the monster attack. He did the math in his head.

"I'm twenty-one?" It was more of a question. "I'm twenty-one." He confirmed. Flora giggled again.

"You sure?"

Percy leant over and poked her. "Of course I'm sure." She gave him a wide, toothy grin, and, with some surprise, Percy realised he was happy.

He wasn't whole. He never would be. But, deep down, Percy felt that maybe, just maybe, he was slightly less empty.

That night, his good mood faded. Flora woke up crying.

"I miss Dad." She sobbed. "I want my Dad."

Percy wrapped his arms around her. "I know. But one day, you'll see him again. But until then, you have to be strong. Okay? He would want you to be strong. Be strong for him. Make him proud."

She wiped away her tears, steeling her face. Percy couldn't believe it, the strength and resolve of this seven-year-old. He couldn't have done it. That's for sure. He couldn't even save his parents. Or her father.

Percy shook his head, dispelling the negative thoughts. Don't linger. Don't feel. No connections.

But he couldn't help it. He was already attached to her. He would already die to protect her. He watched as she gradually fell asleep. She wormed her way into his cold dead heart, and now, there was no getting her out.

It didn't take them long to reach Long Island. He swum them to shore, amusing Flora when he walked on the water. They reached the base of the hill, and, hand in hand, walked upwards. Percy had told her all about camp. Told her about Chiron, and how he knew her mother, and would help her make friends. She was excited. She didn't know that Percy wouldn't be going in with her.

They passed Peleus, and Percy gave him a pat on the head as Flora gaped. They reached Thalia's tree.

Percy crouched down in front of her.

"When you go in," he told her, "aim for the big house. Okay? You have to go in and knock on the door. Tell them everything that has happened. When you talk to Mr D, make sure you be really nice. And remember, if you ever want to talk to me, you ring this number." He said giving her the paper. It was the same number he had given Agent Simmons.

"You're not coming with me?"

Percy shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

His answer was simple. "I'm not ready."

Flora nodded, not understanding at all.

"Now off you go."

She turned, looking back once as she crossed the barrier, but Percy was already gone.

 **Location: Stark Tower, New York**

 **Date: 8/19/2014**

 **Time: 08:10**

 **Subject: Tony Stark**

Tony watched open-mouthed at the article JARVIS was showing him. He was in Scotland. And suspected of murdering a florist by the name of Adam Kilpatrick, and then he kidnapped his daughter.

Percy Jackson had been identified, by the security camera's in grocery store. They had before and after photos. Pictures from when he first arrived. Wild and menacing, with ripped clothes and a thick, black beard with the accompanying sticks and leaves of a homeless man. And then he shaved, for what, Tony didn't know. It only made him easier to recognise.

The report stated that he was homeless, and known to be menacing to the town residents. Well, that sounded like Percy Jackson, alright.

"JARVIS?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Ready my suit. I need to make a flight."

He arrived in the village early the next morning, just as the residents were waking up. Within moments of him touching down outside the grocery store, they were coming out of their front doors, uttering exclamations and rushing at him, with wide eyes.

Stark allowed himself a small smile. No matter how often it happened, their admiration felt good.

"So…" he began, noting the gaping mouths, "I heard that here is where I can find Percy Jackson. Can you take me to him?"

At this, dark mutters erupted, mouths twisting down, faces darkening.

"What? What did he do?"

There was no answer.

"So, where can I find him?"

One of them pointed to the woods. "He always came from that direction, and after he kidnapped the girl, he left in that direction."

Tony nodded his thanks, stepped backwards into his suit and leapt into the sky.

"Run a scan of the forest. The article said that he lived in the forest. Check for any signs of camps, or structures."

He waited for a moment. "Nothing sir."

The Iron Man frowned. If he wasn't in the woods, then where was he. The woods were backed up by the lake, there was nowhere else to go.

"Run it again."

"Nothing."

The frown deepened before an idea struck him. What did they know about Percy Jackson? Basically nothing. He could breathe underwater for all they knew.

"Run a scan of the lake. Look for the same thing."

"The lake." If Tony didn't know better, he would say that JARVIS sounded slightly incredulous.

"Yes. The lake."

Another moment passed.

"Sir, it appears that in the centre of the lake, at its deepest depths, there is a structure.

Stark raised an eyebrow. "What kind of structure?"

"He appears to have built himself a hut."

"I've gotta see this." Tony muttered, before diving down beneath the waters surface. The lake was dark and murky. He kept jetting down, and out of the gloom, loomed an oddly rounded shape.

His mouth dropped open in shock. It was in the shape of an igloo, and appeared to be made out of dark grey, moss-covered stone. He walked inside. In the centre of the room was a crude slab of rock, which he assumed was a table, and in the far corner, a long rectangular one. A bed.

"Holy shit." He breathed. "How is this possible?"


	12. Chapter 12

_Read it again. And I decided that – 1. It doesn't really make any sense, and 2. Is inconsistent with what I've already written. So… I decided that I needed to find another way for Percy to end up with the place I've been planning from the beginning. So… Percy needs to be involved with Hydra in another way, one that doesn't involve him being captured too easily. And here we are, with a new and improved chapter 12. Have fun. Go nuts. Tear it apart. I'm ready._

 _ **Chapter 12**_

 **Location: Camp Half-Blood, Long Island**

 **Date: 8/25/2014**

 **Time: 10:02**

 **Subject: Clarisse La Rue**

They had a newcomer. Another fucking newcomer. Lately, the camp had been so full they had to keep building extensions for all the cabins. The newbie in question was small and fragile looking. She couldn't be more than ten years old. She was walking down the hill, seeming to be quite hesitant, the long grass was threaded through her fingers as she walked, and it tremored long after she'd left it behind.

Demeter, Clarisse decided. She doubted it could be anyone else.

Sighing, Clarisse schooled her expression into one she hoped was welcoming. Already, a crowd of campers had gathered at the base of the hill, waiting to see the newbie. It was rare for someone so young to arrive… especially alone. She stepped forward.

"Hi, welcome to Camp Half-Blood. You need to see Chiron. And Mr D. But Mr D probably won't care. But you still need to see him. And the orientation video. You should be claimed tonight. Ever since Jackson, they claim everyone within the first day." Clarisse cut off her rambling, inwardly cursing her ADHD.

"I was told to go to the Big House." The little girl said, her voice as high and sweet as Hestia's. "He said that I need to go to the Big House."

She frowned. "Who said-"

"Clarisse," Chiron reprimanded, appearing almost silently behind her, "No need to overwhelm the new camper. And what is your name?"

"Flora. Flora Kilpatrick." She replied, staring dumbly at Chiron's lower (and slightly more horsey) half. Clarisse idly noticed that the girl had a strong Scottish accent. How the hell did she get all the way here from Scotland?

"The Big House is this way." Chiron said, gesturing for her to follow. "You can come too, Clarisse. You can show Miss Flora around, yes?" It wasn't a question with an intended answer. She nodded and followed along too. They trudged their way up to the Big House, the silence was deafening, palpable… and she hated it. Hated how heavy the lack of noise was, how reminiscent it was of the silence of a battlefield after a fight. Her father was the God of War… yes, she enjoyed a fight. But seeing that, all of the pain… all of the needless destruction. It was scarring, thick slashes in her sanity, claws carving deep marks in her mind, allowing the crazy to seep in.

It was easier when she believed in a better future. When she had hope. When Percy Jackson was here. She didn't love him. Not like that. Chris was the one for her. But she needed him. She needed a general, a commander. Ares was the God of War, and as the daughter of war, she believed in, she craved the rankings of an army, the placement of men, the delegation of responsibility. War was chaos, that is true, but Clarisse yearned for order. And Percy Jackson, wherever he was, was her commander. The guy she would follow, through victory or defeat. And… although Clarisse would never admit it… she missed him. He was a good guy. He was her friend.

Chiron held the door open for Flora, and she stepped through with trepidation. Clarisse allowed herself a small smile. The girl was so young, and yet… so brave. It was strange, she thought, the spawn of Demeter were not known for their bravery. Just… don't tell Katie that.

They sat down around the ping pong table. Flora sat her hands in her lap, wringing anxiously, unconsciously. Her expression was curious…attentive.

"You're from Scotland… correct?" Chiron asked.

Flora nodded.

"And how did you come to be here?"

Her voice was quiet, timid, unsure. "My Dad owned the flower shop. I never met my Mum. And Dad would teach me things. Things about plants. And half a year ago, I started seeing him around the village."

"Who?" Clarisse asked.

"Percy." Clarisse sucked in her breath sharply. _Percy._ Chiron gestured for Flora to continue her story.

"He was scary at first. Cos, he had this big black beard, and everyone thought that he lived in the woods. I would see him in the forest, when I went to visit the flowers. But he never said anything, and Dad told me not to talk to strangers, so I didn't say anything. And then there were these big black dog monsters and they attacked me and Dad in the shop. And Dad tried to- to protect me… but they ki- killed h-him. The vines got two and they turned into dust. And Dad was… Dad was on the ground and I thought I was going to die. But then Percy came, and he killed the other four. And we ran into the woods. He said that we needed to leave because the monsters knew where we were. Then we walked to the beach and Percy made this giant bubble and we travelled along the bottom of the ocea-"

Flora's voice broke off as Clarisse stood in a sudden impulsive moment. And then she was running, sprinting up the hill, after her long lost friend. She ran through the barrier, her breath heaving in her chest, her heart clogging her chest.

"Prissy!" She screamed, "Jackson." Clarisse looked around wildly, he couldn't have gotten far. There was no way.

"Percy…" She said in a broken whisper. But it was all for nought. Percy Jackson was already gone.

 **Location: Queens, New York**

 **Date: 8/27/2014**

 **Time: 09:31**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

He was walking, with no particular place in mind. New York was his hometown after all. Not his home though. Never his home. His mom had always been home for him. And Sally Jackson was dead. But still, Percy welcomed the familiar surroundings. He strode around the corner, listening to the honking of cars and shouting of drivers. So peaceful, so familiar.

Perhaps, he thought as he heard the sound of pounding flesh, it was slightly too familiar. He followed it, as the shouting echoed upwards from a dark, dumpster filled alley. Five teenagers were cornering a small broken huddle on the ground, taunting it with their words, kicking it with their boots.

"Come on, Puny Parker, get up, or are you too much of a coward?" The leader snarled. He was a tall boy, no older than thirteen, but was already gaining muscle, and, to Percy, it was clear that an original thought had never passed through the asshole's thick, blonde head. The huddle on the ground shuddered and dragged itself up the wall, taking deep, shaking breaths.

"Shut up, Flash." The broken boy shouted. "Just _shut up_!"

The bully cackled, and his loyal followers echoed him. He pulled back his arm, ready to punch the kid in the face. Percy acted on impulse, striding forward and catching the boy's arm by the elbow.

"That's enough!" They swung around in surprise, staring at him. Flash swallowed as he slowly trailed his eyes up Percy's form before resting on his face, which, coincidentally, held a watered down, yet still impressive, wolf glare. His sea-green eyes were hard, his gaze unrelenting. His mouth was set in a firm line, lips pressed together in an impressive scowl. He had more than enough experience with bullies. And he _did not_ like them. Not one bit. Flash gulped nervously, before seeming to man up.

"You're just one guy." He declared. "We can take you."

Percy raised a single brow, scrutinising the guy. And, in a lightning quick motion, he punched him in the nose. Flash stumbled backwards, clutching at his face as a cascade of blood poured down his lips and chin.

"You hit me!" He cried. "You can't hit me… I'm just a kid."

"And what is he?" Percy asked calmly, gesturing to the broken form of the kid behind them. "Is he not a child as well? I don't like to hit children, but I will if they prey on those weaker than them, like a goddam monster. I mean, I know this will be difficult for you, but think about it. You were just beating on someone who is smaller, by the looks of it, younger and weaker. What is it that I just did again?"

One of the bully's cronies tugged on Flash's jacket. "Flash…" he whispered, "Flash. Look at him. Look at his face. That's Percy Jackson."

"Percy Jackson?" Flash muttered.

"You know… the _Avenger_."

Percy gave them a savage grin and gestured for them to run. They did. Percy reached out a hand and tugged the kid upwards into a standing position.

"Hey Kid. What's your name?"

The boy looked up at him, his brown eyes wide and thankful.

"Peter Parker."

He offered the kid a smile. "You alright there, Pete? They didn't hurt you too bad?"

Peter shook his head, his liquid brown eyes wide in awe. Percy didn't like those looks. He wasn't comfortable with those looks.

"You're good? You don't need me to walk you home or call your parents or anything?"

"Nah, dude. I think I'll be fine."

Percy smiled at him. A genuine smile. His lopsided one.

"Well… I best be off, you know, before you're friend back there decides to tell the cops that Percy Jackson broke his nose."

Percy strode around the corner into the bright sunlight, giving a casual wave of goodbye over his shoulder, not noticing the traffic camera that turned to track his movements. He kept walking. _Forwards, always._

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 8/27/2014**

 **Time: 10:14**

 **Subject: Grant Ward**

Agent Grand Ward watched the monitor closely. The target had just been sighted. How he got from Scotland to New York was beyond him, but, he supposed, he could question him about his travel methods after they had captured him. Garrett claimed he needed him. Something about how he was 'a key cog in the machinations of the divine future' or some such bullshit.

Ward didn't give a fuck about that… he merely had a score to settle. Percy Jackson had made him look like an amateur. A foolish amateur.

His gaze on the computer screen increased in intensity. Percy Jackson would pay for what he had done. Grant had no doubts about that. He had claimed that he was immune to pain. Ward couldn't wait to test that theory.

After the scientists and doctors had their way with him and figured out exactly how and what was done to him, it would be his turn. Ward could barely contain his excitement.

He picked up the phone, rapidly dialling.

"He's in New York. Queens. Yes, sir. I'll deploy the team now. No, sir. I won't kill him. I understand his importance. Okay sir. Goodbye." He ended the call, his mouth twisting into a frown. Garrett had been acting increasingly erratic. And, though he loathed to admit it, it scared him. If Garrett was to fall, what would happen to Grant? He didn't know. And that was the problem.

Ward deployed the STRIKE team with quick concise motions. He strapped on his Kevlar with a practiced hand. After all, he'd had years of experience. He boarded the quin jet and stood in front of his team, hating himself for wishing that he had his old members still with him. But he was part of Hydra, and they were not. He would make things right, though. Soon… he would make things right.

"Now. Our target is Percy Jackson, an individual that is considered by the public as an Avenger and is believed to have enough power to rival Captain America. And everyone knows what happened in Washington D.C. You must approach with caution. We aim to contain, not kill. Hydra needs him alive, and I intend to keep him that way. We get close enough to tranq him… and we get out. Is that clear?"

Around the jet, there were echoed replies of 'yes sir'.

Ward smirked at them, appreciating their obedience. "Hail Hydra."

"HAIL HYDRA!"

The tranquilisers were strong. Strong enough to knock out a fully-grown elephant. Jackson wouldn't stand a chance. He hadn't made it far when they caught up with him. And Ward once again warned his men to keep their distance. He had made them at Goa. He could make them here. Jackson was walking down the street, hood flipped up over his face, his hands resting in his pockets. His jacket was a teal green colour, standing out in its vibrancy around the drab buildings.

The target's pace increased, and his face burrowed deeper into his hood. He was onto them. He ducked into a side street, and Ward vaguely remembered that New York was Percy Jackson's home turf. He knew it better than they ever would. But yet, they followed. They had their orders, and obedience was _very_ important to Hydra.

He was slowly, gradually losing them. And Ward felt himself begin to panic. It didn't show, of course. He was a specialist. And they were trained to show no emotions. But still, if he lost him, who knows what crazy shit Garrett would pull. They were out of Queens now, and were getting deeper and deeper into who the fuck knows where. Jackson crossed a busy road, disappearing somewhat behind the heavy traffic. Ward and his men broke into a run. They rounded the corner the target had disappeared around. He peered after him, and Ward barely caught the sight of the corner of Jackson's jacket disappearing into an alley.

They followed, growing increasingly desperate. They couldn't lose him. Ward _couldn't. wouldn't. Won't._ They did. The alley was a dead end, littered with trash, rats and overflowing dumpsters. But Percy Jackson was nowhere to be found. Grant kicked the wall in frustration. What would Garrett say? What would he do?

"Aww… _Fuck_."

 **Location: New York**

 **Date: 8/27/2014**

 **Time: 10:25**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

Percy watched Ward and his men from the rooftop. They were after him, that much was undeniable. He didn't know why. And they weren't S.H.I.E.L.D., even Percy could see that. Their biceps carried a symbol of an octopus in deep, blood red. The sign was familiar. He knew he had seen it somewhere. The only question was where.

And then something clicked in his brain, somehow relating his musings to his old high school history textbook. To World War II. And Captain America. And _Hydra._ They were Hydra. The Nazi organisation that had made a comeback only a couple of months before, whilst he was still living in Scotland. Percy may have been living on the down low, but he wasn't that oblivious. Captain America and some of his Avenger friends had taken down a plot for mass murder on the public.

They'd saved millions of lives, many of which, Percy assumed, would have been demigods. So Hydra was back. And they were searching for him. The group following him was lead Agent Ward, someone that Percy was acquainted with, and he couldn't help but wonder if the man had betrayed his team, or if they had been Hydra from the beginning.

They had been hiding inside of an intelligence organisation. One of the, if the not _the_ most advanced intelligence divisions in the world. They could know about his true origin. They could know about the demigods, and the Gods. And if Hydra found out about the monsters, the results could be disastrous. To Percy, there was only one clear course of action. He had to find out what they knew.

From his perch, he watched as Ward paced back and forth in the alley below him. He'd have to follow him and find their base of operations. He had to find the source, and once found, Percy could only hope that he'd have the strength to take it out.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter 13**_

 _So… long time no see. I am really not happy with this chapter. I feel like my writing is shit in it. It remains, as always, unedited. Sorry about that. The truth is, I've lost motivation. However, I have a plan for a chapter in the future, one that I'm really looking forward to writing, I just have to get through this boring shit first. So, I'm sorry. Hate me if you want, I don't really care. For your pleasure… I present to you… unlucky Chapter 13_

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 9/2/2014**

 **Time: 08:02**

 **Subject: Percy Jackson**

He followed Ward to Canada. To fucking _Canada._ In winter. And it was in a town or city, no… it was in the middle of a fucking forest, in the middle of fucking nowhere. Percy couldn't help but feel slightly pissed off. He huddled deeper within his coat, trying to fight against the chill that pervaded the ice filled air. It was snowing, and Percy had already accumulated a thick coating on his head and shoulders. He was outside a base, a well-guarded base with motion sensored machined guns that fired at him whenever he moved. So he sat, in the snow, as the cold reached his feet and rose increasingly higher to areas that it didn't bode well thinking about.

It was good for him, he told himself, he needs this as training for the future, in case he ever ends up in a situation that has him freezing his balls off. Percy's life felt like a lot of 'in cases' lately. He was on the run, in case they tried to find him again. He lied about his powers and heritage, in case they found out about the Gods and misused that information. He followed Hydra, in case they had any knowledge about the divine world and wanted to use it to enact some evil Nazi shit. Percy knew it was wrong, but he couldn't help but hope, but dream, for something solid. For something real.

He scoffed lightly. What the hell was he thinking… security was the last thing he would be achieving any time soon.

The base appeared to be impenetrable. Of course, it was, it was a SHIELD base. Or Hydra… whatever. Percy was willing to bet that Agent Ward was either undercover or meeting up with allies. In all honest, he didn't have any idea if any of SHIELD had survived.

Moving slowly, in order to not set off the overly eager motion sensors, he tugged his hood up over his snowy head, and slid sunglasses over his face. The glare off the snow was terrible. Settling his back against the damp tree behind him, Percy sunk into a trance of weary watchfulness.

A light blinked in the stark whiteness of the snow, and he snapped to attention. The door to the base slid open, and four people exited. It was Coulson. Percy stilled. Movement caught the eye, it may be instinct to move, to flinch even, but if he wished to remain undetected, he would have to be motionless. Gemma, Fitz and another agent followed. Percy frowned as they walked off. Did this mean that Coulson and his team were Hydra like Ward, or did it mean that they had remained loyal to SHIELD and that Ward was betraying them. He didn't know. But he had to find out.

The motion sensors were turned off for the team to exit, and Percy used this time greatly to his advantage. He settled his stomach to the snow, amid the underbrush, and wormed his way closer to the entrance. He would need to break into the doors. Percy could hack… the Stoll brothers had taught him that much, but with no electronic devices and an almost impenetrable SHIELD base door. he doubted he could manage it.

The was another whirring noise, and once again, the front door opened. It was Agent May, and she was alone. Percy frowned in deliberation. He could follow May, someone who he hadn't confirmed as Hydra, or he could wait out Ward, the Agent that he had. Ward. Definitely. Go with the path with less unknowns, less chance of failure.

He sighed, before rolling onto his back and propping himself up against an icy boulder. He was tired, exhausted. He hadn't slept in nearly a week. He shut his eyes, settling into a light doze. Deep sleep wasn't an option, so napping would have to do.

He slept for ten hours. Ten hours! Percy hadn't slept that long since he fell into Tartarus. He supposed it was the cold, lulling him deeper into a coma like sleep. It was the mechanical whirring of something electronic and the dull splat of snow on concrete that brought him to attention. He fixed his gaze on the base, noting as the sound of powerful thrusters disturbed the calm air. The plane he'd been captive on rose out of the roof, turned and jetted off into the distance.

This was his moment. This was his chance. Percy moved in a burst of speed, the motion sensing machine guns ripping into the ground behind him, tracing his footsteps as he sprinted. Reaching the rock face of the base, he began to climb, clinging with his fingers and toes. He scaled it quickly and smoothly, seeming to flow up the vertical wall. Percy could hear the doors closing again, could sense the water in the air as it whistled between the mechanical entrance. He increased his pace. Percy sprinted across the roof, his feet crunching in the frosty snow, puffs erupting from every heavy footfall. The doors were closing. He wasn't going to make it.

He slid into a baseball dive, slipping downwards through the doors just as they slammed shut. And then he was falling, plummeting towards the ground from the air hangar roof. Think Percy, he told himself, _think._

In a hurry, he manipulated the water in the air, creating a platform beneath himself, allowing him to hover face first, half a metre off the concrete ground. He let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding before dropping to the ground, catching himself on his hands and the balls of his feet. In a blur of motion, he swung into a defensive position, his sunglasses on and hood still pulled low over his face. Percy tugged his scarf up over his chin, and warily surveyed his surroundings. There was no one here. Odd… they wouldn't leave the base unoccupied, unless they planned on moving on. But Coulson and his team had left yesterday. Why would someone vacate the base whilst the others are on a mission?

He walked forward carefully, watchfully, and extended his senses outwards, taking note of any variations in air pressure and water density. There was one. A body. He knew it was a body, not a person, as their blood wasn't moving, there was no thrill or undercurrent of blood beneath the skin. It was simply lying there, motionless. Percy headed towards the body. It was difficult to follow his senses. He kept having to backtrack when he walked too far. But he found it.

He stood outside the door and couldn't help but feel a small thrill of dread. The base was empty, his explorations had surmised that much. Percy turned the handle. There was a small pool of blood on the ground, clearly dripped there from above. He looked up. The body was a man. Small, and slightly overweight, but with a kind face that was currently smooshed into the metal grid of the shelf. A lanyard dangled down, obviously dislodged by someone in a panic. Reaching upwards, Percy gently tugged the blood smeared lanyard over the man's head.

The lanyard had a card on it. A card emblazoned with the SHIELD logo. The body was still warm. The base was SHIELD. Ward was Hydra. Ward had killed this man. Ward was a murderer. Percy squared his jaw beneath the scarf. He needed information. And he needed it now.

He strode back through the door, closing it behind him, and went back the way he came, stopping at a room he'd passed on the way there. It was obviously the control room. The four large screens on the walls attested to that. It wasn't difficult to hack into the systems. In fact, it was surprisingly easy for someone with as limited skills as he had.

"Idiots…" He muttered. They never expected someone to hack them from the inside. They never learn. This was how Hydra managed to fool them for so long.

There was a landmine of information. SHIELD knew nothing of the gods, but that didn't mean Hydra didn't.

He downloaded everything on the encrypted hard-drive he carried with him everywhere. Thank you SHIELD. Thank you very much.

And now… there was only one last stop.

The armoury was glorious. Percy was in love. All four walls were covered in weapons. Hand guns, shot guns, a sniper rifle. Knives and daggers of all sizes, a sabre, katanas, a scimitar. And then there was the sword. The only word he could use to describe it was beautiful. The hilt was wrapped in a soft, supple leather. The blade was a deep silver, almost grey. He picked it up off the wall, slightly surprised by its weight. It was heavy but was almost perfectly balanced. It was almost as balanced as Riptide. _Almost._

Percy swung it in a circle, listening to the blade hum as it split the air. Unconsciously, without even realising it, Percy dropped into a defensive stance, his shoulders square, his feet spread, situated firmly on the ground. He moved quickly, inhumanly quick as he ran through well practiced moves and actions, the sword spun in dizzying motions, singing as it sliced smoothly through the air with a faint _hiss._ It was ritualistic. Calming.

No matter how many times he'd tried to deny it, Percy was made for war, bred to fight. He was a child of the eldest gods, and it was in his blood, and it always would be. He thrived in times of strife and violence, feeling most comfortable with a weapon in his hand. It was something he both loved and loathed about himself. Well, it was about time he accepted it.

With a grin on his face, still hidden beneath his scarf, Percy slid the sword into the sheath that had been hanging beneath it. The weapon was long, longer than Riptide, and Percy strapped the sword on his back, the hilt sticking up over one shoulder. He grabbed a black duffle bag.

With a smirk, he began to fill it.

 **Location: Classified**

 **Date: 9/3/2014**

 **Time: 10:29**

 **Subject: Phil Coulson**

Coulson and his team arrived back to an empty base.

"Where's our plane?"

"Where's our team?"

Coulson was astounded, and, grudgingly, for one of the first times, he replied, "I don't know."

The security footage was interesting, to say the least. The cameras were disabled. All except for the hangar. Coulson and the team watched silently, with bated breath as May strode purposely out the doors, a bag slung over her back. He exhaled softly. He did this. The clip zoomed forward. Ward and Skye left, hand in hand, the Bus rose into the air and out the hatch. The feed stopped. Coulson turned to Fitz.

"Do you know why they left?"

"Uh… sir? That's not all."

Fitz started the security feed once more, and Coulson watched with narrowed eyes as a figure dressed in black slipped through the hatch just as it closed. The figure hurtled towards the ground before he jerked to a halt, hovering a foot above the ground, seeming to float on nothing.

Simmons gasped.

The man (because Phil could now discern that the figure was, in fact, a man) landed on the ground in a crouch, light on the balls of his feet. In a blurrily quick motion, he swung into a defensive position. The man was quick, and could apparently fly, or at least hover. Mentally, Coulson had already declared him a threat. He wore sunglasses beneath his hood, and a scarf was wrapped around the lower part of his face. Long, black hair had escaped the confines of the hood and hung in raven dark tendrils around his covered face.

He struck an intimidation image. He stood slowly, seeming to identify no threats. The intruder was tall, at least six foot under Coulson's trained eye, and he couldn't help but feel that the guy was slightly familiar. Fitz fast-forwarded the footage until it showed him entering the empty hangar once more. The guy was now carrying a full black duffle bag, and had a sword strapped to his back. He strode to the doors as they automatically opened. The man hesitated slightly before turning to face the security. Lifting his free hand, he gave it a lazy salute, before exiting into the blinding white snow.

Coulson heard Jemma's sudden intake of breath. He turned to her, a frown etched on his face.

"That's Percy Jackson." She whispered, "That- that salute. He did it, right before he jumped off the Bus. It's him. I'm sure of it."

He swore, Phil had _known_ the guy was familiar.

"Trip. Go check the armoury. I want to know how much he took."

He lifted his hand, kneading his aching forehead. The room was silent, still clothed in shock of what they'd just seen. It was impossible, the whole thing was simply improbable. They knew Jackson wasn't dead. Skye had gotten a ping from Scotland, security footage of him right before he kidnapped a child. How could he have survived jumping off a flying plane, in the middle of the Indian Ocean? _How?_ Percy Jackson had lied to him, or at least omitted some, if not most of the truth. That much was clear. But Coulson couldn't help but wonder _why_. They weren't going to hurt him. Probably. And why, if he was running, would he come to a SHIELD base? Was he Hydra? Or was he after something in particular? He didn't know. And it made his head hurt.

Trip's cry of "Sir!" broke Coulson out of his deliberation, and standing, he headed to the armoury. The frown lines deepened when he arrived.

"Oh… shit." It was basically empty. A few stray weapons hung on the walls. Percy Jackson had cleared them out.

The team trooped back to the room.

"There's not much we can do about Jackson now. He was here. He left. We have no way to track him. So we find out team. We find Eric. We work out what happened. Sound good?" There were affirmative nods all round. "Let's get to it then. We'll figure this out."


	14. Chapter 14

_This is so overdue. I have no excuse. I'm sorry. Maybe this will make up for it? I tried to make it longer than usual. It, as always, is unedited. I actually haven't even read through it, so I don't know if it makes sense or not. Good luck._

 **Chapter 14**

 **Location: Somewhere in the Ocean**

 **Date: 9/4/2014**

 **Time: 02:37**

 **Subject: Jemma Simmons**

They were in a box on the bottom of the ocean. A _box_ on the bottom of the _ocean._ Gemma despaired. Enough oxygen for one. And that one would not be Fitz. Pressing her face into his neck, she felt sticky tears slide down her cheeks. It couldn't end like this. It can't end like this. There was no hope for them, not unless they made it. Ninety feet to the surface. Even if they made it out, the odds of her making it to the surface in one breath were high. Almost too high. She pulled away from Leo, pulling her phone out of her pocket. There was no service down here. She knew there wouldn't be. But it didn't stop her from desperately pressing the call button. Trying to ring Perseus Jackson. He said that if she ever needed help, he'd be there. She needed help. And she couldn't _contact him._ Tossing her phone away from her in a desperate scream of rage, Fitz embraced her once more.

"Jemma," he said, " _Jemma._ This is the only way." He pulled away. Pushed the button. Her panic was drowned in the rapid onrush of water. The force of it punched her in the guts, she felt her ribs creak. She took a breath. The breath. Their one breath of air, and kicked toward the surface.

But… it was so far away, and Fitz was dead weight beneath her. Jemma wouldn't let him go, could never let him go. He was Fitz, they would die together, or not at all. She kicked, her legs working furiously, lungs burning with effort. And then the desire to take a breath, the absolute screaming of her chest, she was going to die, she knew it. She swum feebly, weakly, until Fitz's weight began to drag her back down into the depths. She was going to die. _They were both going to die._ Her vision whited out, unconsciously, despite her internal screaming at herself not too, she took a breath. Salt water rushed in her mouth, down her throat, filling her lungs. She choked on it, hot tears going unnoticed in the sea.

And then there was air, and she was desperately coughing up water and bile, the back of her throat burning. She cradled Fitz's head in her lap, checking for a pulse. There, but soft, fluttering weakly against the pressure of her fingertips. She looked up, this, what was happening, it wasn't possible. They were in a bubble, a giant, perfectly round bubble that was drifting gently back up to the open air. And outside, shoulder length, ink black hair drifting eerily, was _Percy Jackson_. His face was grim, brow furrowed, and hands held out, raising slowly with the bubble.

It was a miracle, it wasn't possible. _How could he have known?_ They breached the surface. And then Jackson was kneeling next to her, a black duffle bag slung over his shoulder, as she paddled, asking if she was alright.

"Simmons, you good? Listen to me, _are you alright?_ "

She shook her head, tears still tracking down her face and dripping onto Fitz below. Percy grabbed her hand, pulled her upwards, and next thing she knew, she was sitting, cross-legged on top of the water next to him. Leo lay on the water in front of her, limp body cradled almost lovingly in the sea, as it moulded itself to his form. Percy just sat down across from her staring.

"Does anyone know where you are?" He asked after a long pause.

"No." She rasped, "I-I don't think so."

He nodded. "I can get you to shore if I have to. Shouldn't take me long if I really push it."

She stared at him. "How are you doing this? How did you find us?"

He cocked his head slightly as he looked at her. "I can control water. And really, it was only luck that I found you. I was tracking the plane. It was flying pretty low, and some sources told me that they'd seen it fly overhead in this direction."

Jemma gaped at him. The ability to control water, all water, was phenomenal, the absolute magnitude of that statement. He could control vapour in the air, most of the planet was covered in ocean, even blood– Percy Jackson could manipulate someone's blood. The potential, the danger that that held…

She opened her mouth, whether to question him further or to demand that he take her and Fitz to land, she wasn't sure, when the sound of a chopper split the air. A steady _thwup, thwup, thwup,_ shivered across her skin, creating ripples in the water they were currently sitting on. Jackson stood up, a hand hovering over his eyes as he looked directly into the sun. The helicopter sped closer, before hovering above their heads. A hand reached down, a hand reaching out to grasp Simmons'. It felt like hope.

Perseus Jackson stared at Nick Fury, an eyebrow raised, and Nick Fury stared back. If Jemma had of known him better, she could have officially classified Fury's face of one of complete surprise, but instead, it remained decidedly blank and unimpressed.

"Perseus Jackson." He said, as an agent next to him pulled Fitz aboard, Jemma hovering anxiously behind him.

"Hello." Percy replied rather sarcastically, his brow still fixed somewhere near his hairline.

"I did _not_ expect to see you here."

"And you are?" His tone was light, his eyes were narrowed in a wolf glare sharp enough to cut glass.

"Fury." He replied. In a movement almost too quick for the human eye, Jackson whipped his new sword from its sheath with a slithery rasp. "Nick Fury. Former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." He clarified. Now, it took more than that to make Fury flinch, but if the blink and slight leaning back was any indication, he was unnerved.

Percy leant forward, eyes narrowed, head cocked contemplatively to the side, and looked him up and down. Obviously deciding that he wasn't who or what he'd thought he was, Jackson slid the sword back into its sheath.

"As far as I've heard, S.H.I.E.L.D. was synonymous with Hydra."

"I'm not Hydra." Fury gritted out.

"And my proof of that is?"

"Hydra tried to kill me, they almost succeeded."

"He's not Hydra." Gemma butted in, and can we please get someone to help Fitz please." Her voice was desperate. Strained. Percy's eyes softened.

"Can you handle Garrett without me?" He asked, voice low and husky.

"Maybe." Fury answered.

"Well, I'm not coming with you. If you need help, or have any intel, Gemma has my number."

And with that comment, he turned and dove into the water, disappearing into the waves without a splash or a sound.

 **Location: Hydra Facility, Russia**

 **Date: 5/7/2014**

 **Time: 01:23**

 **Subject: Perseus Jackson**

Percy's burner phone vibrated and he hauled it out of his pocket with a muffled curse.

"Hello?"

"Jackson."

Percy sighed. "I guess Dr. Simmons gave you my number. What do you want, Fury?"

"You're hunting down Hydra." It wasn't a question.

"You obviously know I am. Please stop tracking me."

"You're not exactly making it difficult to see where you've been. Four Hydra facilities, one in Croatia, another in France, two in Spain; all of them destroyed. Captives released, goons captured or killed, facilities flooded. You've been leaving a trail, if you know enough to look for it."

"And you know enough."

"Don't sass me Jackson. I want to help. You like to work alone, lone gunslinger, all that shit. Fine. But I have intel. Intel that you desperately need."

Percy hummed in reply and focused more sharply on the facility below him. It stood, a stark dark grey in the snow around it. Four grunts walked the perimeter of the barbed wire fence. Forest surrounded it. Spotlights lit the grounds. The building was humming, a hive of life and activity. And inside, was Hydra.

"I have information." Fury continued. "There is a facility in Russia. All sorts of bad shit. Where are you now?"

At this, Percy gave a mirthless laugh. "I'm in Russia. And I've hit six, not four. You still sure I need intel?"

Fury cursed, "We should be helping each other Jackson, we have the same goals here."

Percy hummed. "I'll think about it." He hung up. Shoved the phone back in his pocket and hefted the sniper rifle he'd set up on a ridge, peering through the scope carefully.

Four men in each patrol. Each patrol lasted four hours. There was a two-minute interval where they met up to change and the perimeter was unguarded. Percy was going to have to use his time wisely. Luckily, he was already heavily, he'd been staking this place out for two weeks. He wore a long sleeve turtleneck black shirt. He had holsters on his thighs and waist, his sword crossed sheathed across his back, two long knives were strapped to his waist, smaller blades hidden in his clothing in every available place possible.

It was never good to be without a weapon. That was just asking for trouble. Percy packed up his rifle. The change was coming in twenty minutes. He couldn't take out the patrol from here, the facility would be thrown into instant alarm. So, up close and personal it was.

He put the rifle back into his duffel bag, hiding the bag under a fallen tree. He didn't like to use guns too much, knives were much more Percy's style.

He pulled the neck of his shirt up over his face until it covered his nose and rested just beneath his eyes. As far as Percy was aware, the only people who knew that he'd involved himself in Hydra was Fury and Coulson's team. He'd like to keep it that way. There wasn't any reason to run around asking for trouble. Well, even more trouble. Percy pulled a knife from his sleeve. It was time to move.

Fifteen minutes until the patrol change. He crept down the ridge, slowly, quietly, the only sound came from the soft crunch of snow beneath his booted feet.

Ten minutes. The closest guard was checking his watch, shifting impatiently, the other three were convening on his position. Percy pulled a long knife from his belt, a hilt gripped in each hand.

Five minutes. They gathered in a circle, talking amongst themselves. He crept closer. Percy crouched in shadow, resting just within the tree line, waiting, watching.

Two minutes, he stood. One minute.

Time. They turned back towards the building. Percy sprinted, no longer caring about noise. In a jump boosted by his powers, he leapt the fence, ducking into a roll as he landed. The first guard was silenced, the small knife finding itself in his neck. He gurgled, and the others turned startled. But Percy was already running, his long dagger gutted the next, he spun low, as they reached for their weapons with muffled cries. The knife was pulled from flesh and found itself in the third man's eye. There was one and a half minutes left. Percy had already tarried too long. The fourth one died. No help was called. One minute.

Percy retrieved his knife again, tucked it back into his sleeve where it rested, warm and sticky against his skin. He drew his other dagger. Guns would be useless until he was in the building. He was going for subtle, for now at least. He sprinted to the building, dodging the spotlights as they rotated, back and forth across the fenced yard. It was difficult, but Percy managed. Not that black clothes in white snow helped him much. But fuck it, there was no way that he was going to wear white.

He got to the door, leant on the wall next to the hinges. The door opened with him behind it. the first guard stepped out, stopped and took a deep breath before sighing, his breath misting in the freezing area in front of him. The second poked him in the back. With a Russian curse, he kept walking, two others behind him. The fourth busied himself with closing the door. The door had to be opened from the inside. Agents would radio in at the end of their shift to open the door. This was the reason Percy waited for the guard change. This was what made this facility more difficult.

Percy flipped his daggers into a reverse grip. He had to move quickly. He _couldn't_ let the door close. He paused, moved, quick as a blur, and tore through the men in front of him, a dark shadow spinning and churning in the snow. The agent at the door turned alarmed, panicked and reached for his radio. Percy put his blade through his heart. He dropped, scarlet staining pristine white.

Percy didn't enjoy killing, didn't like what it turned him into. But he was built for war, born into existence to destroy enemies that the Gods didn't wish to dirty their hands with. A fight was his true calling. And these men, these men were all willing members of Hydra, they served them, knowing the crimes and atrocities they committed, turning a blind eye to the pain of others. Percy didn't mind killing members of Hydra.

He grabbed the door, hand stopping it from closing, and entered. Any minute now, the alarms would go off, and Hydra would realise he was here. They'd see him on security cameras, if he didn't dispose of them. He was in a long hallway, concrete floors, concrete walls. It was a bunker. He walked forward, wiping his knives on his pants before sheathing them in a smooth motion. The security camera on the door shattered, he focused his attention on the one at the end of the hall, it soon followed.

Percy's fingers twitched. He walked, reached the end of the hallway, and turned right. According to blue prints he'd found at one of the places in Spain, this was the way to the control room, and the laboratories, the quarters were down the left. Percy pulled out his gun, pointing it carefully in front of him. A door further down opened. A man came out. Percy shot him. The gun shot was loud, bouncing echoes off the walls. A man in the room shouted, rushing outwards. Another shot. Percy entered the room, looking around carefully. A woman was strapped naked to a table, dazed as a scientist hovered over her, holding a scalpel. He put his hands in the air, she groaned. Percy shot him in the head. Gun still raised, he paced over to the woman, unbuckling her hands and feet. He hauled her onto her feet and handed her a lab coat.

"You alright? You all good?"

She nodded, head lolling forward and onto her chest.

"Yeah… you're not alright. Cool, okay. I can deal with that." Percy muttered. An alarm blared. The lights flickered red. Okay. Fuck.

He slung her arm over his shoulders, wrapped an arm around her waist and gripped the gun with the other. He dragged her from the lab. She was dead weight. The next room was a lab as well. He propped her against the wall and shot the scientist inside, before picking her up again and continuing. The fifth room they encountered was full of people in cages, huddling against the cold concrete walls. There was a bucket in the corner of each cell, filled with excrement. Percy almost gagged from the smell.

A man, skinny and scraggly, shouted when he saw the woman Percy was carrying.

"Nikita!" He shouted.

Percy looked at him. "You know her?"

She is my wife, he replied in a heavy accent.

Percy nodded. "Good. You can carry her."

The teen girl in the cage next to him stared. "We are locked in cells."

"Yep. Not for long."

"Do you have the keys?" The husband asked.

"Nope. And not enough time for it anyways." He looked around at them all. "Fuck it." Percy muttered, putting the woman, Nikita down, and drew his adamantium sword.

With an easy swing, he cut through the lock on the man's bars.

"Help her please." The guy rushed forward, grabbing the woman before she toppled over.

He moved onto the next cage.

"Don't!" An old man rasped from the back of the room. "Hydra will reward our loyalty. They will kill this gutless worm and our rewards will be plentiful."

Percy stared at him, one brow raised. "Seriously? Gutless worm."

"Hydra will raise us to be beyond men. We will be gods, revered above all others. This man will meet his end at their hand. Cut off one head, and two more shall take its place." He crowed.

"Right." Percy said. "Does anyone else share the same thinking? No? Okay then. Let's get you out of there."

In quick succession, he released the rest of the prisoners, all but the old man at the back.

"You're not going to release him as well?" The girl asked.

"He might give us away." Percy replied, a humourless smile curling the edge of his mouth. Then he remembered that they couldn't actually see it.

The lights still flickered red, Percy could hear footsteps and shouting in the distance.

"How many of you have fought before?" A few people raised their hands. "I'll give you some knives to defend yourselves. Stay in here. Keep yourselves safe. Look after each other."

"We are not coming with you?" the husband asked.

"I'm more effective when I don't have to look after a group of people who are in no condition to fight. Lock this door behind me. I'll be back. Don't open the door unless it's me. When I get back, I'll say the words 'Fuck Hydra'. Say it."

"Fuck Hydra" they rumbled back.

"Do as I said. Do you understand?" There was a dull murmur of agreement. Percy unsheathed some of his knives, handing them to the fighting prisoners.

Percy put away his sword with a metallic rasp and hefted his gun once more. He poked his head out the door, and in quick succession, fired three shots at the agent who'd just barrelled around the corner. Two hit and the agent was down. He checked the other way, finding it clear.

"Shut the door." He commanded, stepping into the hallway. The door shut with a clang behind him. Looking both ways again, he walked carefully down the corridor. The next room was empty, the next after that was filled with more prisoners. Percy repeated the same process. There weren't enough agents in the halls, which meant one thing, they were amassing somewhere, planning an ambush. And until he'd cleared out the control room, he was a sitting duck. His pace quickened.

The world was tinted red, it was an ominous colour, a violent colour. He was running, sprinting down the hall, extending his senses, finding people. They were down the hall, in a room on the left. Standing still, quietly, all facing the same direction. But they were nervous, adrenaline was running high. Well, there it was. Ambush. Percy put his gun away and drew his sword. There were pipes in the walls and floors, rushing, churning all around him, by his arms, beneath his feet. If he stepped in front of the door, they'd shoot him. No question. So, Percy decided, powers it is.

He reached the room, was half a foot from the door. He leant against the wall and closed his eyes. _Concentrate._ The control room was right behind them, it wouldn't do to get their computers wet and ruin all of the intel he'd come here to collect. Percy stood up straight, squared his shoulders, and _pulled._ He felt the tug of his gut, the power roaring through the air, through his blood. The concrete walls burst, and water poured out, forming long tentacles, wrapping and thrashing in the air. They greeted the soldiers with open arms, quickly, rapidly, snaking around their throats. Men gurgled, and as one, reached for the curl wrapped around their throats. But it was water, and their hands passed through. Percy strolled through the door easily, smoothly, as if there wasn't thirty men being strangled in front of him. The water did its job, and the men soon fell unconscious.

There were two agents in the control room, hands already raised above their heads, quivering in fear. Percy knocked them out with the hilt of his sword, before plopping down in front of the screens. He plugged in his hard drive and started the download. Hydra was as stupid as S.H.I.E.L.D. they weren't even password protected. He checked the cameras. The left-over agents were trying to get someone out of the building. He ran facial recognition on Hydra's personnel files. He was Baron von Strucker. A head of Hydra. And he was trying to escape. There was only one entrance in the building, and only one exit. It was supposed to make it harder to infiltrate. It also made it harder to escape. The download was happening. There were ten minutes left on the timer. Percy stood, his sword hanging from his hand. At least he knew where they would be. He ran, sprinting out of the control room, past the thirty or so unconscious men and back down the hallway. He passed the doors with the prisoners, passed the labs, and there he was. Surrounded by men. Making his way to the door. They turned, lifted their machine guns.

Percy ducked into a roll, dodging under gunfire before coming up, sword swinging a deadly arc as scarlet split the air. The lights blinked on and off, red fading to black and back again. it was disconcerting, and with every flicker, there were more dead. Strucker backed away, made for the door. Percy threw a knife, it flew, spinning, hilt over handle towards the back of Strucker's head. He turned at the last minute, his head spinning to see Percy. And the knife missed by an inch, carving a diagonal line from the centre of his forehead, down across his nose and cheek. He flinched, ran, and made it out of the door.

Percy dispatched the rest of the soldiers, blood dripping from his blade onto concrete floors. There was the rev of a car from outside, and Percy charged outside the door, making sure to prop it open on a dead guy as he went. Strucker was in a black jeep, skidding out of the barded wire gate, tires churning stark white snow. Percy pulled out his gun and took aim.

 _BANG._

Percy staggered, and reached around to his shoulder blade, feeling the bullet wound, the hot stickiness of blood. An agent had crawled to his knees, his handgun was raised in a shaking hand, the other clutched his bleeding stomach. Percy fired. The agent collapsed.

"Fuck." Percy swore. "FUCK."

Right. Prisoners. Facility. Hard drive. He had work to do. There was no one of Hydra left in the building, unless you count that weird prisoner. He turned, heading back to the control room. He collected his intel, and tread softly back to the cells, the bodies of all the unconscious agents hanging in water ropes behind him.

"Fuck Hydra." He called.

The doors opened. The prisoners stepped out hesitantly, staring incredulously at the bodies dangling from watery ropes at Percy's back, at bloody sword and clothes. He moved onto the next room and did the same thing. Some prisoners greeted each other. There were tears and hugs. It was all very touching.

"Come on." He walked, they followed. They staggered their way out of the facility, stepping and stumbling over bodies. It was still night outside. Percy wasn't surprised. He'd only been there an hour, maybe two. It wasn't a large facility. Percy led them out of the yard through the still open gate. Led them up the road a couple hundred metres and plonked the unconscious soldiers down.

"Just give me a minute." He said.

He held his arms out, concentrated, there was a roar, the sound of frozen earth cracking, and the ground erupted, geysers of water shooting upwards, reaching for the facility with beckoning hands. It swept over the building, a tidal wave of water making its presence known. The building groaned and crumbled, until all that remained was a torrent of water and wet rubble. Percy let his control go and released the water, watching as it splashed onto the ground, flooding the small bowl of forest that the bunker was located in.

He rubbed his hands together, and quirked his lips in a lopsided smile beneath his collar.

"Done." The prisoners stared.

Percy shifted, "Well, I've gotta make a call."

He rang Fury. The phone rang once, twice, before cutting off on the third ring.

"Fury." The man answered.

"Hey Nicky."

"Jackson. Reconsidered already have you." He sounded smug. Self-assured.

"I need you to pick something up for me."

"And why would I do that?"

Percy laughed, deep and cynical. "I have people here. Prisoners of Hydra. They've been experimented on. Tortured. I take that personally. You wanted me to help you. I'm helping."

"How many?"

Percy did a quick head count. "Four dozen or so. Thirty odd unconscious soldiers."

"You work quick." He sounded surprised. Percy tried not to be too offended.

"Look, dude. Are you coming or not? Because I just missed out on cutting off a Hydra head and I'm feeling pretty pissed. So either you get your flat old ass over here, or you'll know what its like when its you I'm pissed at." He hung up. Slid his phone back into his pocket.

"Can I get my knives back please." It wasn't a question. They were all handed back silently. Percy ran a hand through his hair.

"You are all gonna stay here. I've asked someone to come collect you. I'm going. So… later." He turned and disappeared through the trees.

Little did he know, that in two hours, Fury would arrive, see the prisoners, the soldiers, and the flooded rubble, before swearing violently.

"That _motherfucker!_ "


End file.
